A New Dawn
by Ersatz
Summary: What is her connection with the dastardly Magpie? Kari begins her confession to a certain master Fain. Chapter Six now up. Reviews lavished with lashings and lashings of love.
1. Sunlit Blessings

_Something is coming, Kari. Something that will change everything. Maybe even destroy it_. - Oriel

**Sunlit Blessings**

Summer's end in the year 978NE, and the season rages with its dying breath. Sun-specked children scamper and yip before scuttling, red-cheeked, for the shade. Goodwives huff and huddle as tongues twist scandal from idle words. Sleeves sweep dripping brows, painted fans wick the air like stricken butterflies while parasols bob, hawkers curse and nobles bemoan the charnel stench of the market pens. Summer's end in Tar Valon, 978NE. And it is here that our story begins.

A figure emerges from a dingy den, peering into the sunlight. A quick look into the bustling crowd and then she is among them, darting through the throng like a minnow. The humid air carries the fetid perfume of the river's edge, a pungent stew of fish guts, swelter brine and rotting quench-reed and the girl's nose wrinkles prettily as a childs.

She attracts many a curious eye, this thin, sickly looking creature, her pallor stark against a fall of red hair, but her steps are light and quick on the fouled, gritty cobbles. A hawker, blustering and sweaty, forgets the heat and the suspicion his wares are spoiling as he glimpses her, and could that be a smile softening his lips?

Yes, pretty as a daydream is this pale, merry girl as she arrows through the crowd. Today, the city is a cook pot of curses, odour and ruinous heat, but one thing shines like a single bloom through the cracked cobbles. And her name is Kari al'Thor.

* * *

'Kari!' 

Her hand pressed to her stomach, Kari turned greet the red-cheeked woman bustling towards her.

'Fie girl.' Una boomed, her formidable frame heaving through the crowd. 'Are you deaf?'

'Sorry. I was a little distracted.'

'I'll say. Light, this blighter gets heavier by the day.' Una hefted her bundle with a grimace. 'I need a favour, Kari. I need you to speak to DuMerle for me.' She lowered her gaze and rocked the baby in fitful jerks. 'It seems the Aes Sedai's charity isn't going to last and…. well, this little one doesn't feed himself.'

Kari felt a pang of sorrow at the woman's dismayed flush. 'I'll speak to DuMerle. Don't worry. I'm sure he will give you more time.'

Una's smile wavered with gratitude and Kari felt another nudge of pain. To see Una, proud, unshakable Una, bent-shouldered and humble was a sight she could never have imagined. She had heard folk mutter that pride was worthless as ashes these days. But now even cinders had their price.

The bundle began to protest at its mother's jitterings, whining and waving its dimpled fists at the air.

Kari reached a finger to stroke the babe's doughy cheek. The child fluttered its feather-fine lashes, mewled a yawn and busied itself sleeping.

She could feel Una's eyes upon her. The weight of that regretful look was unwelcome as the heat.

Kari backed away, her smile fixed. 'I'll let you know what he says.'

'My thanks, Kari. And get some food down you. You're skinny as a bloody corn-stalk.'

Kari flipped a wave and hurried on, but thoughts of DuMerle roiled her innards all the more.

The sun was beating a fresh ache into her pounding head. That, and the stink, was hardly helping her stomach. It sloshed like a washday tub, as though threatening to empty her breakfast onto the greasy cobbles. Kari gulped against the nausea and put DuMerle firmly from her mind.

The feel of the child still lingered on her fingertips. Its skin had been slick, hot as boiled milk and nearly as pale. She was whispering a blessing, one of the oldest and dearest charms she knew, for the frail child when the cat appeared. Black and lithe, its teeth like tiny pearl bodkins, the hateful thing slid into her path and fixed her with a limpid glare. Ill-will seethed from the creature in hot waves. Kari clasped a hand to her belly and jolted into passer-by hard enough to make her gasp. Stammering an apology, she glimpsed the lordling's outrage lapse into a smile, the kind of smile that would have had Tam running for a cudgel. She ignored that oily leer and instead matched the cool, amber stare now tracking her retreat. Breathing a placating ward….

_The Light guide me….the Light protect me…._

…she swept past both the cat and the now frowning boy.

Her hand still pressed to her abdomen, Kari hurried on as the warmth of her palm seeped through the tender flesh. Despite her foolishness, a smile twitched her lips. It seemed nothing could dampen her spirits today. Not the heat, not Una and her request, not some silly black cat. Even the fleeting image of DuMerle failed to sour her mood.

A surge of nausea nearly overwhelmed her and she quickened her steps. It was not far now. A few more minutes and she would see Oriel. Her smile, sickly and tight, drew even more curious glances. Soon, she would know.

* * *

'Hullo?' She edged further into the gloom. 'Oriel?' 

Nothing but the whicker of horses and the smell of damp hay greeted her. Kari stepped into the stable, her boots swirling dust motes to drift and shimmer in sunlit streams. Horses snorted and stamped at the intrusion. Kari approached a stall where a sleek head watched her with huge, liquid eyes and smoothed the white star on the beast's otherwise flawless muzzle. Its fragrant breath wiffled at her palm.

'I'm sorry.' She murmured. 'I haven't anything for you.'

'Help you, m'lady?'

She spun to see a young man leaning on a pitchfork, his gaze trawling over her before finally settling on her face.

'No, thank you.' Kari lifted her chin and tried a study of poise. 'I'm waiting for someone.'

She barely had time to consider her words when a slow smile split the fellow's face. Tapping a finger to his nose, the man tipped her a wink. 'I'd better leave you to it then.'

Kari glared at the lout as he swaggered into the courtyard, wishing she had something to hurl at him.

'That shade of red is rather becoming on you.' A cloaked figure stepped in from the light. 'Been out in the sun too long dearest, or did Laertes make you one of his little propositions?'

That low, soft voice melted her scowl. 'I'm glad you came.'

'Have I ever let you down before?'

Tears stung as Kari rushed to her old friend. Oriel clasped her just as warmly, laughing at the fierceness of her friend's welcome.

A perfume of lavender and lemongrass made her head spin, aromas that tugged at warm memories of sunshine and firesides and fits of laughter. But there was something else too, something sterile and cold and so unlike the Oriel she knew.

'So they finally let you out.' Her tone was teasing, once as common as the laughter between them, but Oriel's smile flickered.

'Only if I promised to behave.' She said, a little too brightly. 'Are you well?'

'Fine. You?'

'Wonderful.'

'Liar.'

'That makes two of us.'

And that set them to laughing again.

Typically, Oriel had come prepared. A short trip to the flowering orchard found a small basket in the shade of a ruby-studded Rowan. They were soon lounging in the clipped grass, chattering and giggling like fishwives over cured ham and strange, yellow pickles. A few brandy-soaked cherries warmed their stomachs and fuelled their giggles, prompting a grinning appearance from Laertes until Oriel sent him away with her most arch smile.

Finally, appetites sated and cheeks aching with mirth, the pair set to nursing their full bellies in companionable silence.

'I'm sorry I haven't visited.' Oriel said, her slim fingers idly stripping the flesh from a fallen leaf. 'So much is happening. Sometimes it seems as though the world is going mad.'

'Only sometimes?'

Her friend laughed, a rich, familiar sound. 'It's as though nobody knows what to believe any more. There's just rumour and counter-rumour, all chasing one another until truth become lies and the lies keep twisting, and the Tower…' She gave a gusty sigh. 'It's hard, Kari. Harder than I ever imagined.'

'But surely you'll be raised soon?'

'I test for the shawl next week.' The words had barely left her lips when Kari leapt at her.

Oriel laughed again as she pried free of the younger girl's embrace.

'I can't believe it.' Kari gave her friend a final squeeze. 'You'll be a Green, after all this time.'

She frowned as Oriel pushed her at arms length. Blue eyes stared resolutely into her own.

'I've changed my nomination.'

'What?'

Oriel studied the ruined leaf in her hand, but that look was cold, distant. 'Something is coming, Kari. Something that will change everything. Maybe even destroy it.'

Kari curled her hands in her lap and waited. Oriel's eyes still held that strange glaze as she turned the strip of green over and over.

'There is weakness everywhere,' she said finally. 'Even among the Ajah's. When the time to choose comes, there will be no place for weakness. One life for the sake of thousands. Tens of thousands.' Her fingers closed about the leaf. 'I intend to make sure that choice is made.'

Kari almost cringed from the steel in those eyes and Oriel glanced away, her lips hooked in a wry smile.

'I wouldn't expect you to understand.'

Kari bunched her skirts in fists. It hurt that something should be so closed between them, that there was something in which they could not share laughter or secrets. Not for the first time she felt a surge of loathing for the Tower, for that hateful spike pointing like some accusing finger at the sky.

Her cheeks grew hot. 'You're right. How could I understand? I'm just some silly milksop waiting for her wayward husband.'

'Oh, Light, Kari. I'm so sorry.' A pale hand stroked her shoulder. 'Have you had any news?'

Kari shook her head. Tears welled, from anger or sorrow she couldn't tell.

'It isn't right.' Oriel's pretty face hardened into a scowl. 'Tam should be here, not gallivanting the Light knows where, playing hero while his wife mopes at home.'

'I do not mope.' Kari gave a wan smile. 'I _pine_. It's a far nobler pastime.'

'It's still not right. Heron-marked sword or no, I'll box his ears when he finally comes home.'

Kari popped a berry into her mouth, not daring to speak lest the tears overwhelm her.

They talked for a little longer, of home and family, things that brought sad smiles and stifled sighs.

Then Oriel gave her shoulder a final squeeze and rose with a languid stretch. 'I should set off.'

Kari hefted onto her knees, suddenly awkward that she should have to such a thing of her friend. 'I need you to do something for me.'

Her face must have looked graver than she intended for Oriel knelt suddenly to clasp warm hands about her own. 'What is it?'

Kari stared at her hands, dark and worn beneath her friend's pale, delicate fingers. 'I've heard that there are things you can do….'

Oriel gave her hands a gentle squeeze 'Go on.'

'To tell whether a woman is with child.'

The rushed words hung in the air between them. Oriel's face was the calm, cold mask of an Aes Sedai.

Kari clasped her skirts until the knuckles blanched. 'I've tried other ways. Old Yureen was last, but she was wrong. The poor thing can hardly tell day from night.'

'All right.'

'And I need to know. I'm just so sure –'

'Kari, I'll do it.'

'Truly?'

The mask slipped into a smile. 'Of course.'

'Wait.' She reached to knock three raps on the tree trunk then blushed at Oriel's raised brow. 'I know. I just want luck on my side.'

Closing her eyes, Oriel murmured a blessing as she thumbed the serpent ring.

'And I'm the superstitious one?'

A blue eye opened to glare at her. 'Hush.'

'Sorry.'

A shiver rippled her flesh when those hands touched her. Kari bit at her lip and tried to breathe.

When she opened her eyes, Oriel had drawn back, her blue gaze calm.

Black specks danced before her. Kari released the breath in a long sigh. 'Well?'

Oriel was shaking her head. Russet strands drifted before her widening eyes.

Something within her faltered and grew still. She had been so sure this time. So bloody sure.

Fingers touched her chin, gently tilting her head.

'Dearest,' A tear mirrored her own. 'You are with child.'

* * *

**A/N** – Oh dear, oh dear. Surely nothing good can come of this little revelation….right? 

If you've got this far, then I suppose you must have read the whole chapter.

To you I extend my commiserations and thanks in equal measure.

I wanted to write about a lesser character and, lo, the plight of Kari al'Thor popped into my head.

This story is highly inaccurate and very AU, but I'm not the great Jordan himself so no harm done.

I'd love your opinion, and will gladly return the favour if you wish.

**Disclaimer** – I do not own or profit from anything connected with Robert Jordan's work.


	2. The Magpie

**Author's Note:** It's been a while but five lovely reviews inspired me to scribble on. Many thanks to james, Shienar Rexix, taylorangel72, Reda and SecretlyEvil for the feedback – it really is appreciated. Much 'artistic' license has been used in this chapter (what the hell - let's call it AU) and I promise no more boozy fun for Kari ;)

**Disclaimer: **Honk if you love Robert Jordan (meep meep)

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* * *

_How the emerald of the Caemlyn court has fallen, hiding in the shadow of the Tar Valon witches. Society despairs!_ – DuMerle

**The Magpie**

_Hot as brand and sharp as thorn_….

The breeze was hot, a shifting, clasping gauze on her flesh. Barefoot she walked on the caked earth, dread worrying her bones. But the song was calling and she would follow, follow it 'til the end.

_Never fear the never borne_….

Pale waves streaked the horizon, shimmered scorched sand. Her only solace was the song; its soothing lilt wooed her as candlelight draws the lacewing.

_Hear it in the rising sun_….

And the dawn was moving faster now, a pale, ruddy spill on the sands. With it came a sound, a faint mewl of distress. Her faltering step quickened.

_Come the dawn_….

The sun was a strange, lidded eye livid with spite. Sweat beaded her naked flesh.

…._and come the One_.

The wails grew frantic as white light spilled over the wasteland.

_Hot as b_....

She started to run, feet scuffing spurts of sand…

…._rand…_

….clawed up the sleek, sly slope.

A child wailed on the hot earth, tiny fists waving as though in defiance of the dawn.

She faltered, torn between snatching the creature or fleeing his terrible cries. He was tiny, naked. Helpless.

She knelt as the babe opened its eyes. Her fingers trembled; its gaze was a mirror to her own, twin orbs of autumn skies.

He was perfect, delicate as dander in her cradling arms. Her heart cramped as chubby fingers twined in her hair, red strands like fire in his palm.

'_Kari?_'

She cooed, rocked the newborn in her naked arms, clasped him close. The child suckled, a moth-flutter against her breast. She wept.

'_Kari, are you_....'

She kissed his head, smoothed his down of hair. Red hair, like her own. A tear fell on his brow.

'_Kari!_'

* * *

Gasping, she bolted awake. 

'Are you in there?' A flurry of sharp bangs. 'Answer me, girl!'

Kari clutched at breasts cow-heavy and dull with milk. 'I'm here,' she called dazedly. 'I'll be down shortly.'

'Are you well?'

'Yes. Please give me a moment.'

There was a stern mutter before Mariel huffed away.

The dream was paling, faded now as the pallid sheets.Kari struggled to remember as she slid from the bed; something about heat and sand, a strange sound. Shaking her head, Kari faced the oval mirror.

She looked dreadful, hair a limp draggle on her wan cheeks, eyes heavy and scored with purple crescents.

The sight was made more disturbing by her foolish smile. Wondering if it was possible to look so awful yet feel so delighted, Kari gave her belly a quick rub and set about running a bristle through her hair. After wriggling into a blue, woollen gown, and mock-mourning how the buttons strained at her bosom, she hurried downstairs.

The common room of the Feathered Egg was ragged and rowdy as usual. The sparse adornments only served to heighten the shabbiness of the place. Balding velvet draped the walls and once-gilded alcoves had long succumbed to greed. Murky air, ripe with pipe smoke and spilled ale, set her stomach to twisting again.

Aware that Mariel was watching her like a sparrowhawk, Kari swallowed rising bile and nudged through the crowd.

Durr paused in mopping the bar to peer at her. 'You look like something old Salter dragged in.'

'Why thank you. May I have a drink with my insult?'

'Just concerned, my pretty songbird.' The big man grinned as he fetched a pitcher. 'The usual?'

'Today I think I'll try the limewash.'

The barman affected surprise as he poured the greenish cordial. 'Said to be very good for certain delicate conditions, this. Got anything to tell old Durr? Good news perhaps?'

'Light, your tongue's hinged loose as a fisherwifes. It's just a touch of grippe - and don't go telling folk any different.'

'As if I would.' His grin was broad as he handed her the cup. 'Take it easy now, lass. Don't let Mariel nettle you.'

Kari took a sip of the limewash and grimaced – small wonder only sailors could stomach it. She soon abandoned the drink and any hope of avoiding her patron; Mairel was watching her as old Salter, the sole recipient of her affection, purred on her considerable lap. There was a tightness about the woman's usually doughy face. As she drew closer Kari saw why; Mariel had a human companion. The young man had a pale, pinched face that looked peculiar in the convivial surroundings. His narrowed gaze met hers before dropping to the carved tabletop.

'Kari,' drawled Mariel, her fat, jewelled fingers waving in the young man's direction. 'Show our new friend the rooms. Master Pain will be staying for a few days.'

'Fain.'

Mariel's turned her dark gaze on the boy. 'Your pardon?'

'Name's Fain,' he murmured, shifting slightly on the bench. 'Padan Fain.'

The Egg's newest 'friend' looked like he wished the floor might swallow him up. At Kari's obliging curtsey he scooted to his feet, clearly eager to be away from the predatory proprietor.

Kari bobbed her skirts again. 'If you would follow me, Master Fain.'

'Padan.'

She glanced over her shoulder. The fellow was trailing her hems, his hands knotted so tightly the knuckles gleamed like bone.

'I mean I'd prefer if you called me Padan.'

'Dan for short?'

He blinked.

'A jest, Padan. And don't worry. Mistress Mariel has no more scratch in her than that fat old cat.'

A smile touched his thin lips. 'That's good to know.'

His accent was unfamiliar to her, a sort of rolling brogue.

'Are you from Andor?' she asked, mostly to set him at ease despite her curiosity.

'No.'

She waited for him to elaborate. He didn't.

Deciding that Master Fain was fonder of his own company than anyone else's, Kari stayed her tongue as they creaked up the stairs to the upper landing.

'I think one will suit.' She smiled sweetly, flipping open the door to a small bedchamber.

Fain's face grew even more cramped. 'Have you anything finer?'

Surprised, she showed him a grander room.

His smile faded almost before it had began. 'Perfect.'

'Please feel free to visit the common room later. We have a dancer and dulcimer-song. The kitchens will prepare—'

'I have—' Fain's ears flushed pink. 'I have heard that there is a singer here.'

She smiled. 'I'll see what can be arranged.'

Half-way down the corridor, Kari began to feel decidedly strange. A sound had bloomed in her ears, a sort of quiet mewl. She glanced at her feet, expecting to see old Salter swerving there, but the corridor was empty.

The sound swelled as a sudden stunning roil of heat, like the blast from the kitchen stoves, buffered her swaying body. Light splintered the corridor - white, blinding….

'Mistress Kari?'

A pale moon floated before her. She blinked and it merged into a narrow face with wide eyes.

'You almost fell. Are you all right?'

'Just a little faint, master Fain.' Cold sweat filmed her skin. 'You can let me go now.'

Fain leapt back as though she had spattered him with skillet oil. 'Perhaps we should ask Mistress Mariel for a physici—'

'No!' She heaved a deep breath. 'In fact, I would be grateful if you didn't mention this to anyone, master—'

'It's Padan.' He stepped closer. 'And you have my word.'

Kari knuckled her eyes and cursed as Fain hurried to his room; the babe was already making itself known. Mariel would never allow a girl foolish enough to get herself 'caught' – a warning she frequently spat at the bolder serving girls – to work in open sight of the menfolk. If her condition was announced, it would mean banishment to the kitchens and a stint under the tyranny of Grey Ren. Apart from smelling like the rump end of a bilge-tote, the old cook was a cauldron of spite.

Despite this dread certainty, Kari surprised herself by beginning to feel better. In fact, apart from a faint ringing in her ears, her head felt clear.

Clear enough to hear Mariel clucking downstairs.

Then came the faint twang of the dulcimer. Dona must have decided to begin her performance early. As she descended, Kari could see why. The common room was full to creaking now; in an hour or so, despite Dunn's liberal watering of the ale, the crowd would be rowdy to the point of unruly.

In the heart of that maelstrom whirled Dona, dark hair a silken fan. A true child of summer, Dona found beauty where Kari found only freckles and the girl's flawless skin was like a glaze of honey. Fighting a flicker of envy, Kari settled on a window sill to watch her friend perform.

The cheers swelled as Dona twirled faster and faster, her lean, dancer's legs flickering in the torchlight. Vaulting onto the table-tops, she sashayed her gauzy skirts, flashing another peek of her fine ankles as belted coins sang and sparked at her rolling hips.

Spurred by whistles and bellows the girl dropped to her knees on the table-top, her back arcing and bucking to the dulcimers frantic rhythm, glossy hair, black as a raven-wing, flailing about her sleek body. Then Dona froze, fully arched, one arm flung in supplication as the other clutched for the hidden sky. The girl held the dramatic pose before rising to her feet with languid grace and allowing a beaming fellow to pluck her from the table-top.

Dona rubbed her nose against the man's bristled cheek then hurtled to Kari, painted lips stretched in a delighted smile.

Kari staggered as the girl careered into her. 'Ashes,' she cried, trying to disentangle herself from the dancer's grasp. 'You're in fine fettle tonight.'

'Haven't you heard?' Dona gasped as Kari shook her head. 'DuMerle,' she whispered. 'Here. Tonight!'

'Is that all?'

Dona threw up her hands. 'Kari, you're such a lump! He's going to take me on, I just know it.'

'And that's a good thing?'

'Of course.'

Kari resisted the urge to shake the girl. 'Dona, he's not what you think. Working for him is dangerous.'

'_His _name is DuMerle,' the girl declared with a sniff. 'And DuMerle takes care of his dancers.'

'He takes care of his business,' Kari hissed. 'You'll be nothing more to him than a tool, a stone in his game.'

Dona's smile faded. 'DuMerle cares for me.'

'_He_ cares for no one.'

'Just because Mariel thinks I'm just some useless Lost mongrel doesn't mean everyone else has to.' Tears shone in the younger girl's eyes. 'DuMerle understands.'

'That crow will chatter whatever you want to hear. Listen—'

'You're jealous,' Dona cried, her eyes glittering. 'Jealous because you'll be left in this cess-hole and your husband's out there cosying up to Light knows what. You're the one who needs to be careful - careful you don't get all dried up and ugly so no one will love you at all!'

Dona stormed off, forgetting to roll her hips in her pique.

Supposing she should be angry but just feeling tired and miserable, Kari slumped onto the sill.

The slender, passionate Tua'athan was very young but she had seen much. Not Tua'athan, she amended - Dona had been born to the Lost and would probably die that way. But although the girl had spoken in spite, Kari was suddenly worried.

Tam. She could sometimes go whole days without thinking of him, of his kind, open face, his soft, gentle voice.

She loved her husband. He was honest, loyal, warm. He made her feel good. Content. And yet, when he wasn't with her…no. When Tam returned they _would_ do the things they promised, forget the war, forget Tar Valon. Forget Caemlyn.

'Still worrying those feathers in your head?' Mariel tapped her silk shod foot on the grubby floor. 'Folk won't buy beer in a dour pub, my girl. Get some songs into them. And none of that maudlin claptrap. I want money from these fools, not tears.'

Praying that the babe wouldn't choose this moment to announce itself, Kari followed Mariel to the platform.

The woman waddled onto the small bier, her cheeks bunched in a shrewd smile.

'And now, my good masters, for your entertainment, The Feathered Egg's finest songbird – Kari Lelfryne.'

'al'Thor,' Kari hissed as the innkeeper huffed from the stage.

Fighting a scowl, Kari tossed back her hair and placed a resting hand on her belly. A few men were casting her appreciative looks but most carried on bellowing at one another between gulps from tankards.

With a silent, fervent wish for the child to be still, Kari took a breath and began to sing. It was an old refrain about some long-forgotten war, its lamenting theme heightened by the noble rhythm and dolorous melody. She ignored Mariel's daggered looks and allowed her thoughts to wander as they oft did when she sang. She thought of Tam, who had taught her this ancient air, of their wedding-day that began with shy smiles and ended with soft, moonlit sighs. By the second verse, the ruckus in the common room had died and, when she soared into the chorus, a few tentative voices joined her own.

All smiles now, Mariel wove between the menfolk, the model of the perfect hostess. Kari lifted her gaze to the webbed beams and lost herself in the song's sorrow, the ripple of harmonies, the pure, shining thread of melody.

The creak of the door rasped a discordant note. Spell broken, Kari snapped her gaze to the entrance. A woman had stepped into the bar, her face haughtily beautifuldespite the scar bisecting her cheek. After a scanning the room with a raptor's gaze, the woman jerked a nod. A small procession traipsed into the common room, a stream of silken beauties in rain-pocked skirts and over-strung bodices. And there, at the tail of this plumaged procession, was DuMerle.

His face was shaded by his hat, tri-pointed and black to match his garb, but still she could feel his gaze on her, sense his mocking smile.

Rain dripped from that strange hat, streamed from his oiled cape. Cane clicking, he strolled to the table hastily vacated by a gang of sailors and ordered a drink froma grovelling Mariel. Kari knew how he must sound to the innkeeper, his voice soft yet clipped, eradicated of any accent. He looked charming, polite, urbane; all things that were not, and could never be, DuMerle.

Then he sat with a pitcher of blood-red wine and watched his girls circle the dregs of The Feathered Egg.

A smatter of applause greeted Kari's final note – the men were too interested in the colourful arrivals to celebrate a mere song. Kari threw Mariel a helpless look but the woman just waved her arms, signalling that she should continue.

She chose her next song carefully, an old air dredged from childhood. With some pleasure she saw DuMerle's gloved hand stiffen on his cane then, as though to mask the uncharacteristic response, find and tilt his goblet in grim recognition.

Her smirk withered as he watched over the rim of his wineglass.

_A pretty ditty, songbird. But who will enjoy the last laugh?_

Her dismay mounted as Dona wasted no time in sidling up to her champion. DuMerle levelled a devastating smile at the girl and swept off his hat. His face was startlingly pale, a strange counterstroke to his black hair and dark eyes. The striking combination had earned him the title of the Magpie, that and his taste in the finest, most extravagant of things.

Though his looks were unfashionable - fine to the point of delicate – DuMerle had cultivated the most devious of charms and Dona was soon wriggling on his lap. Kari wanted to slap some sense into the girl. As much as Dona railed against her innocence she was nothing more than a childish little flirt and certainly no match for the sly blackbird.

Kari sang louder still, sang of lands dead and lost in the grip of tyrants, of handsome betrayers, wily usurpers. DuMerle was murmuring at Dona though his black eyes often flickered to the stage, as though in dry appreciation of her chosen song. The man was incorrigible.

She stopped before the final verse. No one noticed. Kari hurried from the stage, eager to get the trial of speaking to DuMerle over with.

Her scar livid in the dim light, Petrae barely looked up as Kari approached. She was lounging at the bar but anyone who mistook her nonchalance for anything other than ruse would get a nasty shock.

Kari waved at the innkeeper. 'A drink, Dunn.'

'That fond of the limewash, hm?'

'Bandy this time.'

Ignoring the man's disapproving look, Kari turned to the Petrae. 'I need to speak to DuMerle.'

The woman arched a brow as Dunn slammed a small glass on the bar.

Kari slid the glass to the woman 'It's very important.'

Petrae's gaze never wavered as she downed the dram.

'It's about Una, you see.' Kari pressed. 'Her child is sick and….' But Petrae had already pushed from the bar to swagger to her master.

Dona was flouncing her complaints to Mariel, full lips set in a pout. The young dancer was but a tasty morsel compared to the Magpie's consuming passion; wealth. DuMerle had obviously sent her away so he could speak with his 'client', a small man with a twitch and a nervous sheen.

Kari stopped her fingers from drumming on the bar as the Petrae approached and leant to whisper in her master's ear. There was a pause before DuMerle nodded. Kari released a long-held breath.

'He will see you,' Petrae rasped on her return. Kari struggled not to wince; the scar was the reason Petrae sounded as though she spoke through a tangle of broken glass. The cruel wound snaked from cheek to gullet. Whoever exacted that horror had underestimated the woman – and lived to regret it. Rumour had it that a coffin they once dredged from the south river held the brute who ruined Petrae's face. There had been scratch marks on the coffin-lid. On the inside. Kari tried not to think of it too often.

DuMerle gave no sign he had noticed her approach. He lounged in his chair, cane held carelessly in gloved fingers, and sampled the delicacy of which he was notoriously fond.

The Magpie plucked a cherry from the bowl and twirled its stalk as the merchant pocketed a small purse.

'Thank you,' the small man was bleating. 'This means much to me, my lor—'

He grunted as DuMerle's cane cracked across his face. The man reeled, eyes bulging, before dropping to the matted floor. Crimson dribbled down his forehead. He blinked past a ruby tear as DuMerle leaned close.

'Now master Rinhardt,' said DuMerle, his voice very cold in the sudden silence. 'What have we discussed about that honorific? Do you seek to insult me?'

Rinhardt stared at the blood on his trembling fingers. 'I'm sorry, DuMerle. It—it won't happen again.'

'I'm so glad.' DuMerle extended his arm. 'I detest having to remind people.'

Rinhardt eyed the gloved hand as a man might eye a feral cur but meekly accepted all the same.

'A pleasure doing business with you, my friend.' DuMerle smiled as the man tottered to his feet. 'Take care.'

Kari lowered onto the bench as the merchant hurried off as fast as his bowed-legs would allow.

Black eyes regarded her with amusement. 'Mistress al'Thor,' DuMerle drawled, peeling off gloves to reveal fine, bone-white hands. 'How may I be of service?'

'Una needs more time.'

'I see.' He reached for the carafe, silver rings glinting in the candle-light. 'Drink?'

'No thank you. Her babe is sick and she needs the money for medicine.'

'What is she prepared to offer?'

'Offer?'

'I am a generous man, my lady, but my benefaction can only stretch so far. It is unfortunate that Mistress Una has borrowed beyond her means but—' He spread his hands in a helpless gesture.

'What do you need?'

'A song.'

'Fine.'

'For a private audience, that is. I am remarkably fond of lullabies.'

Indignation coloured Kari's cheeks. 'Not a chance.'

'Very well. Una shall deliver the money tomorrow before noon.'

'Have you no charity?'

'Ah.' He touched a hand to his breast. 'So giving, Karietta. So noble!'

'One more day. That's all she needs.'

She watched him swirl the dark liquid in the cup, sip at the claret wine. 'Since I am in good spirits,' DuMerle breezed, smiling at his little joke. 'The request is granted. Will that be all?'

'One other thing; leave Dona alone.'

'Another favour?' he asked, affecting mild surprise.

'No, a threat. Leave the girl alone.'

DuMerle plucked a cherry, inspected its ripe contours with his lidded gaze. 'Why would I want to do that?'

'She's a child, DuMerle.'

'One not much younger than yourself.'

'You know what I mean.'

'Oh yes, I know full well. Arrogance, Karietta. Your pride rages despite all this...' His gaze raked over the shabby common room. 'Quaintness.'

'You conceited bastard.'

He let the plump berry drop from his fingers. 'Why are you slumming here, Karietta?'

'Stop calling me that.'

'How the emerald of the Caemlyn court has fallen, hiding in the shadow of the Tar Valon witches. Society despairs!'

'Society can rot.'

'But it never will. You and, Light forbid, even I, will one day be nothing but fodder for ravens. But society,' he sighed dramatically. 'Society will last forever. And it remembers.' His eyes riveted her. 'Return to its embrace and it will be as if you never left. A last, shining moment of immortality. Think on it, Karietta; people will speak of it for _decades_.'

'That's all that matters to you, isn't it? Your precious society.'

'Not all, my little songbird. I assure you, not all.'

'Kari?' Dona had returned, her eyes hard as carnelians. 'Mariel is asking for you.'

'What of Una, DuMerle?'

'Two days,' he snapped. 'And please tell mistress Una I expect recompense for my generosity.'

'_Two days?_'

His hand gripped hers, hard, sudden. She gaped as he whispered something to her, backed away when Dona slipped onto the bench.

'I have decided, my flower,' drawled the Magpie in a voice like syrup. 'That you will look quite delightful in my menagerie.'

He laughed at the girl's nonplussed expression.

'I mean, my delicious delicacy, that you are enchanting enough to be one of my dear maidens.'

Kari turned in disgust as the young girl squealed and threw her arms about DuMerle's neck.

She hurried from the Common Room, the blackbird's parting hiss still thrumming within her;

'_Careful, Karietta. I have a habit of collecting pretty things._'

'To the Pit of Doom with you, blackbird.' She slammed her chamber door, leaned heavily on the cold wood. 'You and your society both.'


	3. A Broken Doll

**Author's Note: **Another absurdly long hiatus and I'm back to give thanks for some quality reviews: Mesaarah, Ruinwen, Min, SecretlyEvil, and Nae'blis – to you I extend my hearty thanks. And a big shiny star to the latter for pointing out my idiotic oversight (oops. Me and numbers do not a good match make). Thanks again, all – hope this chapter's up to scratch.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own much except old Salter and Mariel, and one of those is a fat, mangy flea-bag. The cat's a bit niffy too….

* * *

_Someday I'll get that woman to remember my name_ – Padan Fain 

**Chapter Three – A Broken Doll**

'Got ashes where her heart should be, that one.'

Face serene enough for any Aes Sedai, Kari slanted the blade and clipped the reed, tossing it in the basket with the others.

She refused to raise her hackles for them. Women all, and mostly older than she, dowagers-humps and crooked spines spoke that they had toiled this mudflat for years. Where the younger women winced and paused to knuckle sore spines, the withy-clippers trudged on, sneering at the newcomers turned desperate enough to slice reed for their crust.

'Never weeps after her man. Never weeps for nothing,' spat one, wrinkles set in a permanent frown.

Kari shrugged sunlight into her aching shoulders and shuffled through the murk. Pondskaters and little apple-pip creatures called whirligigs darted about her gaiters. Time was she would have flinched every time one of those creatures danced by. Time was she didn't have to pluck worse from her breakfast.

'Aye, thinks herself too fine an' high for us folk.'

A cackle. 'True and maybe so – but war soon rids airs from the likes of her.'

She closed her eyes and filled them with dreams, dreams of shadows and chandeliers, gold at pale throats, black curls sleek with oil, wine-dark goblets. Music from silver harps, notes like lightest snowfall, shimmering the night air. Then _him_, dark as the midnight star, and the never-answered, never-ending invitation to dance….

Her head swam with light jouncing off the ripples. She scrubbed a muddied sleeve over her brow and went on; step bend slice step bend slice until her spine screamed and noon was nothing but a sear of white.

She didn't look up until someone jolted her shoulder. Far away, a heron-shrill voice cried out.

'_Homecall_!'

An ecstasy of splashing, skirts hiked to knees, bare feet flashing on dirt. Kari skidded on the bank, palms blatting the mud until she was haring towards the harbour with the others.

She blinked hard, trying to cool the light seared into her vision. The others flanked her, tumbling in their haste to reach the jettys.

Men were already abandoning the barge when the first, wailing women reached sou'harbour. One of them, a bird-boned Taraboner, hurtled into the slack wave and emerged in the arms of a dark man, both their faces tear-tracked.

Kari pushed on, fought elbows and knees and nail-lashings to scan the faces of the homecomers.

In less than a quarter-hour it was over.

A coarse wind swept from the river, twisting the bargesail so it flapped with a sound like angry gulls. The true gulls were silent strokes against the stark sky – an ill omen. Skirts held firm, Kari watched those wheeling creatures through scorching tears. She would not be like the others, kelp-limp, draped around one another and howling fit to shame a midnight squall.

She ached, her belly most of all, throbbing as though a bruise had bloomed within.

Tossing her straw hat to the river-bank, Kari turned and headed for the place she could never call home.

* * *

The long, hot walk back to the Egg was worse than chipping at the mudflats. 

Along the way people stopped her, begging news of the ferry and its cargo of heroes. Kari sagged on, lips set in a bitter twist – there had been no heroes, only a slow dribble of broken men, shoulders bowed with the weight of loss.

The townsfolk were alight with expectation. To be one of them, innocent of disappointment, holding on to the hope that maybe, just maybe, one of those faces in the crowd would be _his_.

The hordes thinned when she reached the Tower. A veil of calm hung about the place but failed to infect her with its aura.

Oriel flashed into her mind as she passed though the shadow of that white spike. Her friend would be Aes Sedai now, she realised - Oriel, who had stuffed newts down the boys' shirts and grown so giddy chasing dragonflies that she had sicked up, suddenly seemed further from reach than the top of that ivory Tower.

She wondered if her youngling would have the freedom she and Oriel once shared. Not in Tar Valon, she was certain about that. Little ones should be wild as the green lands of her youth, with fields and rivers and none of the precious airs of the city. That would be the place her child would run free. She would make sure of it.

Into the trade quarter now, that broiled frenzy of flesh, food and frantic tongues. She nudged past stalls hawking ribbons, bonnets, calf-skin gloves; all the pointless paraphernalia of society.

Nobles jolted and jousted with the rabble, greed making mince of their airs. A woman strutted by with a cotton parasol, not caring who she prodded or poked. Her skin was alabaster fine, not a freckle or blemish to be seen.

Kari ducked her head and forced into the crowd, jealousy prickling.

There was no need for them to flaunt so…

_but__ you did_

…not when there was a war raging.

In front of her strolled one of the primped nobles, his coat buttoned despite the heat. It gleamed with golden embroidery.

A surge of acid had her eying the man's purse. It was satin with silk drawstrings and bulging with coin. If she was quick, and she could be very quick….

Ruthlessly, she wrenched the thought aside. She was earning from her work on the mudflats, enough to tide her over until Tam returned. And when the babe put a stop to that, there was always….

_DuMerle?_

….the Feathered Egg and her songs. She would get by.

Still, that coat boasted enough embroidery to feed and clothe Una's child for a year….

She gasped. Una.

The woman didn't know she had another two days to make her payment. With promise of good tidings quickening her step, Kari set course for her friend's house.

She was almost running when she saw the white-washed walls of the laundry, darted through its maze of alleys and lean-tos. Then she froze.

'Salutations Kari.'

'What are you doing here?' she snapped. 'The precious Magpie developed a thirst for the cesspool?'

DuMerle, cloaked in black velvet and a smile, lounged against the pale wall. Narrow fingers curled and uncurled about his ebony cane. 'Don't be coarse, dearest. It doesn't suit you.'

'Answer me.'

'Peace, darling. It's horror enough to endure this wretched hour.'

'Most people find noon a decent hour to be abroad.'

'Decent.' He made the word sound soiled. 'Besides, the sun and I are not on good terms; I find her a rather gaudy mistress.'

'What's this about, DuMerle? Una has two days to make payment—'

'You were once a nightwing too, songbird. The prettiest nightingale in all of Caemlyn.'

'—we agreed on it. I know you can hold a deal.'

'True. But I'm not here for money.' Slowly, mock solemn, DuMerle moved his hat from head to chest.

She caught a slice of smile as she ran for the nearest door.

The room was dark, dank with a smell like rust and vomit. She took in the scene as she slid to a stop; Una crumpled on a pallet, shoulders shivering. Two men, all brawn and grins, heaving an oak dresser, careless of its edges shaving the wooden floor. Emptiness, all adornment gone save for a china plate and a single glass on the mantle. And on the floor, bundled in grey swaddle, a silent, tiny creature. White-faced. Perfectly still. Almost a doll.

She left, unblinking, hoping the sunlight would burn off her tears.

DuMerle smiled sadly, hat a shield to his gaze. 'Naturally, I offered my condolences—'

'Why?'

'A noble question,' he sighed. 'Life can be so unfair. Poor woman can't even afford a paupers burial.'

She swallowed past something hot and bitter. 'Have you no pity?'

'I left her a plate. And the wineglass – I've no doubt she'll be in need of that.'

'You heartless bastard.'

'Keep calling me that dearest and I might start acting like one.'

'Her babe is dead.'

'Don't be so dramatic. The runt was grave-meat the moment she spilled him.'

A stab low in her gut. 'To the Pit with you.' Nails scored small moons into her palms. 'My Lord.'

A mere pulse of his pupils; outright shock from anyone else. Victory secured, she leaned a slow curtsey and left him there, silent in her wake.

* * *

The common room was empty save for old Salter and the young man settled with a book and unlit pipe. The latter's eyes widened when they saw her. 

'Mistress Kari – you're pale as ashes. Please, allow me…'

She let the fellow guide her into a fireside chair. He crouched opposite, long nose casting a beaked shadow on his face. 'Are you well? Not another turn like yesterday, I hope.'

'I'm fine. Truly,' she added at his furrowed brow.

Fain – she still couldn't bring herself to think of him as Padan – sat back and fidgeted with his pipe. 'I noticed a gentleman in here last night,' he muttered, as though nervous of any silence between then. She didn't miss the tightening around his dark eyes. 'DuMerle, I fancied his name was.'

'A caution, Master Fain – DuMerle is best avoided.'

'Yet you requested audience with him?'

'A favour, for a friend.'

'Is he a man of his word?'

She swallowed and found she couldn't croak a reply.

'Mistress Kari.' Fain faltered then leaned forward, spilling dottle on his breeches. 'Forgive my pertness, but am I right in guessing this DuMerle the source of your current dismay?'

'He took her things,' she heard herself stammer. 'Payment for the debt, the burial.' Tears prickled. 'Everything.'

His gaze steady; dark, unreadable. 'How awful.'

She found herself loosing Una's plight, let it rush from her like a black tide. All the while Fain twitched and nodded, his face growing sterner and sterner until it was a hard knot of disapproval. He stood and paced to the fire when she was done. The tea he poured for her was stewed but, right then, sweeter than molasses.

The cup was too hot in her fingers. She let it sear away some of the other pain. 'Thank you.'

'I saw you last night. Singing, I mean.' A pause; charming, hesitant. 'You're good.'

She listened beyond the compliment and didn't like what she heard. _Light, Tam.__ Come back for me_….

The tea was hot with spice and something else. Something bitter.

'Forktongue,' he assured, sighting her frown. His ears were still blush-stained. 'Good for sleep.'

'And nightmares?'

'Never troubled by them.' His smile was warm, confident. It didn't fit his face.

'Twice my saviour in as many days. I feel I owe you a favour, Master Fain.'

'A pleasure, Mistress. All mine. Now, if you will excuse me.'

She sipped at her tea as he flopped a cloth cap on his head and made for the door. It was good, hot and musky.

'Padan?' she blurted. 'Stay away from DuMerle.'

He nodded as Mariel popped from the back door, hands grubbing her apron. 'Master Cain?' she shrilled. 'Not staying for dinner? Lamb's hearts and dumplings, mind.'

'Sounds very….fortifying, Mistress. Be sure to save me a bowl.'

They shared a smile as the innkeeper trundled back into the kitchen.

'Someday I'll get that woman to remember my name.' And, with that, Fain wandered into the mid-afternoon chaos of Tar Valon.

'The mysterious Master Fain,' she murmured, swilling the brew so the leaves whirled at the bottom of the cup. She drained it then, let the tea make a sun in her belly, warmth trickling through her limbs. Her last thought before sleep were of Una and her silent, broken doll.

* * *

It began with the ball, of course. 

Whirling, whirling, like Oriel and her dragonflies, the sickness in her belly from his cold hand in hers, of the other on her waist.

Butterflies in the chandeliers, he told her. Look at them, Karietta, look at them _dance_. A stolen kiss beneath spun glass…

_My world, Karietta.__ This I give to you_.

...her crystal tear in his palm.

Then the screams; faint, distant, louder as the music faded and grew silent. No dancers now, no butterflies in the dark. Only that scream and the ice batting her cheeks, whipping her shift to bare legs.

Another scream chasing the first, a howl of utter despair.

She stamped through ice that burnt like fire, saw a huddle through the snow that crusted her lashes.

The woman was still, eyes wide and glazed with frozen tears. The babe was small, blue with cold. She warmed it against her heart.

_Yes, Kari. __Rand__ is a good name._

* * *

'Here now, Kari. Drink while it's warm. It's b…. 

_rand_

'…y. Come on, lass. Open that pretty throat of yours.'

'…rand.'

'Yes, brandy. There's a good girl – down the hatch.'

It was swallow or choke; she ended up doing both.

Durr smiled and patted a meaty hand on her back. 'There. Mind you don't cough yourself sick now.'

Through watering eyes she saw a flotilla of gaping faces. A hand clutched hers - Dona was crouched beside her, face rapt with worry.

'Oh, Kari,' the girl cried in a surfeit of relief. 'What happened?'

She took in the shattered cup, the upturned kettle. Somehow, she was on the floor beside them. Her cheek, when she raised a hand there, was coated with dust.

'I—I must have fallen. I'm sorry. I was having a dream.'

Durr chortled at that. 'I'll say. Shouted fit to bring the bloody inn down.'

The brandy raged in her throat. She ached for a cup of Fain's tea – it had been so soothing - but croaked for a glass of water instead.

Dona helped her upright as Durr lumbered for a glass.

Mariel, worse than useless at the best of times, clucked like a fat hen. 'Oh, what to do? We don't need rumours of sickness under this roof. Think of the business we shall lose. Oh, you hateful girl! Why did you have to make such a scene?'

'What was I shouting?' she demanded, ignoring the innkeeper's histrionics.

Dona shook her head between glaring at Mariel. 'What? I don't know. Nonsense, mostly.'

'Tell me.'

A theatric sigh. 'Something about brands or brandy. That's why Durr ran and fetched you some, you were making such a fuss. Before that….?' Dona scrunched up her face. 'Something about a Byren?

'Vyren,' she intoned as a goblet glinted in the shadows. Someone was raising a toast; black-clad fingers around a crystal-stem, dark eyes and a wily, all-too-knowing smile.

'That's it – Vyren. Are you sure you're all right? You've gone awful whit….'

Hand clapped to her lips, Kari bolted to vomit noisily outside the Feathered Egg. She got more than a few sneers for that, and a hissed; 'Slattern!' from a prim-nosed Cairheinen.

Heart juddering, she leaned to the wall and gritted her teeth until they ached.

_Don't get your laces in a twist _

She almost smiled as Tam's words arrowed through her tangled thoughts.

'Tam.' She rested her forehead against the wall. 'Don't leave me alone.'

The soft tap to her shoulder almost made her sick-up a second time.

'Una,' she gasped at the woman hunched before her. 'Light, Una. I'm so sorry.'

'I wanted to thank you. Here-' Una's voice was dry as old cobwebs. Kari winced when the woman pressed something at her. 'I think he left me a little too much.'

By the time Kari had sense to stop blinking at the coins in her palm, Una had shuffled into the crowd.

It was Una's turn to blink as Kari stuffed the coins back into the other woman's palm. 'Una, who gave this to you?'

'The young fellow.'

'His name?'

Una, poor, bowed, broken Una, shook her head. 'Sorry, I don't know. Said it was a gift from Mistress al'Thor and that I shouldn't trouble you with thanks. But he left me too much.' She swayed a little, hair like draggles of kelp clinging to her white cheeks. 'Too much.'

Guiding Una to her home, Kari found it crowded with its usual furniture and gewgaws. She circled the parlour, eyes wide.

'And he told you I did this?'

Una slumped onto the pallet. 'Yes.'

'But this is all of it,' she exclaimed. 'All of your things, Una.'

'And it is too much!'

Kari rushed to her but the woman cringed

'All too much now.' A broken sob. 'Too much.'

Eyes brimming, Kari rocked the women 'til they were both too weak for tears.

* * *

She didn't go back to the Egg until dark. 

Mariel hardly looked up when she entered; the woman was nose to table-top, busy counting the day's takings.

'I'll be docking you for today's performance,' she wittered as Kari hurried up the steps to the bedchambers.

Kari was still scowling when she rapped on one of the chamber doors.

'No thank you, Mariel,' was the muffled reply. 'I've had enough scones to last me 'til Bel Tine.'

She swung the door wide. Fain was hunched over a writing desk, stylus tapping his lower lip.

'You shouldn't have interfered.'

She saw his shoulders stiffen before he turned. His smile was part sheepish, part superior.

'Why not, Kari? I've a decent trade. I could spare what little she needed.'

'Still,' she murmured, stepping into his chamber. 'It's not wise to cross DuMerle.'

'Cross? I've just tidied up a transaction. He should be pleased.'

'This is his territory, his world.'

His smile withered. 'Things change.'

'Not DuMerle.'

'He is a tyrant. All tyrants have a price. And a weakness. Someone just needs to find his.'

'Which?'

Fain raised a questioning brow.

'His price or his weakness?'

'Either.' He shrugged and tucked the pen behind his ear. 'Both, maybe. Tea?'

She shook her head as he hooked a kettle on the tenter. He had made himself quite at home, she realised. The chamber looked more like a sitting-parlour. Drapes partitioned the bed from the makeshift study where books and papers clutched cosily on the hearth.

'Do you like it?'

Fain had caught her staring at a sheaf of paper bearing a pastoral scene. Greens, golds and violets made rolling spring fields beneath a wash of unbroken blue. It tugged at her, forced her to memories she seldom indulged. 'It's beautiful,' she answered truthfully.

'Thank you.' He grinned at her surprise. 'Not all peddlers are sneaks or thieves - some of us have other talents, you know. Have you ever heard of the Two Rivers?'

She shook her head, trailed her finger over the green and was disappointed to not feel soft blades beneath her touch.

'People there are the salt of the earth; good, solid folk, not like these city types. And the place itself….I swear you could lie beneath those yew trees, let your whole life drift by and not care one whit.'

'The Two Rivers,' she breathed, fingers still trailing the idyllic scene. 'Sounds perfect.'

'It is. Took the trade-route there when old Cal died. Seems no other wanted it. More fool them, I say.'

Her eyes brimmed with sudden, fierce tears. 'I should check Salter's out mousing. Mariel will have my hide if he ransacks the kitchen again.'

She bade Fain a rushed goodnight and sped her candle downstairs. Old Salter was indeed out mousing; three tiny corpses, barely a bead of blood on them, decorated the back steps. Kari toed them into some mouldy hay and headed for her bedchamber.

She almost smiled when she found what greeted her there. A cup, pale china painted with roses, sat quietly steaming outside her door. Preferring that gift to any of old Salter's, Kari took the tea and headed for her blankets.


	4. White Roses

**Author's Note: **….and the plots curdles. Huge, huge thanks to the following (ready to take your bows?); don'tfeedfred, Millia, and Lolli - gargantuan thanks for the reviews, all. They really do make my day. I'm aiming forthe upcoming sequence of chapters to be written in first person PoV – all will be revealed (from Kari's perspective, anyway). For now, here's a bit more of the usual.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, never will be.

* * *

_I believe we have to a game to_ _finish_ - DuMerle 

**Chapter Four – White Roses**

The morning breeze was crisp with the apple-sweet tang of autumn.

Kari breathed deep as she emptied her washwater to the cobbles below. A waggoner looked up and doffed his cap in greeting as she smiled.

Yes, a fine day, despite the dark river-hush and the throaty peal of gulls.

She flipped the window shut, ignored Mariel's squawk to be careful with 'her precious panes', and hummed a tune as she set about making her chamber presentable.

Her bed showed hardly a rumple. Last night no dreams had troubled her, not one nightmare had hunkered in her sleeping head.

She snapped the sheets so they billowed white, sprinkled them with rose-water. Beyond her door, jolly whistling kept time with smart footsteps clipping down the hall. At once she knew it was Padan. Seems the good mood had infected everybody.

'Kar-_i_!'

Except Mariel, of course.

She skimmed through her usual ablutions and bolted to the door, upsetting a cup in her haste. A wash of tea spilled and dripped between the boards. Ashes. She eyed the china cup and left it rocking on the floor. Better a stained floor than a day in Mariel's ill graces.

She almost careered into Dona who, for some fool reason, was lolling about the top of the stairs.

'Come on,' Kari hissed, tugging at the girl's dress so she was forced to gangle along behind.

'Oh my dearest, dearest darling,' was the round inkeep's gushed greeting. 'Come along, sweetling. Hurry now.'

Mariel's smile could make honey seem sour. Dazed, Kari followed the innkeeper.

'No, not that way,' Mariel chirped, steering her from the kitchens.

She staggered into the common room, certain that Mariel would have trumpeted fanfare if she could. 'Here she is, lady Aes Sedai.'

Kari almost giggled as she ran to fling glad arms around her friend. Oriel was stiff in her embrace, the smell of her lavender cologne almost overpowering.

'Look at you,' she burst out, struck by the fierce crimson of her friend's shawl. 'Red always was your colour.'

But in truth Oriel looked….changed. Her dark mane was tamed with a red ribbon, and her face seemed cold without wisping tendrils to soften her sharp cheekbones and white brow.

'My lady Aes Sedai, would you like some tea?' Mariel shuffled forward, eyes bright with awe. 'Wine? I have Tairen—'

'Kari, a word if you will. In private,' she added with a prim look at the scant audience.

It was more an order than request. Fighting a pang of sympathy for the innkeeper's crestfallen face, Kari nodded and led her friend to her chamber.

'Are you sure you wouldn't like some tea?' she asked as the door snicked shut.

Her friend settled into the fireside chair, eyes flickering over the cramped space as she peeled free her fine, ox-blood gloves. 'Perhaps I shall.'

Kari saw her little room as Oriel must; the tangle of petticoats, the skirts slung over the scuffed ladder-backed chair, the tea-stained floor. She quickly set about warming the pot.

'How are you, Kari?'

'As well as can be.' She patted her belly and smiled.

Oriel's face was a painted mask.

'Tell me,' Kari blurted, eager to break the strange formality. 'When did they raise you?'

'Three days ago.'

'May I?'

Oriel held out her hand for Kari to make suitably awed noises over the Great Serpent ring. 'Have you news of Tam?'

The question was crisp, sudden. 'There was a homecall yesterday, but—' Kari shook her head.

Dark eyes studied her then grew soft. There was something deliberate about that, almost calculated. 'I'm sure you will have news soon.'

Not 'good news'. No reassuring 'he'll be home soon, right as raindrops, just you wait and see.'

_Have news._

'What was the name of this place again?'

'The Feathered Egg.' Strange that Mariel's dingy inn could inspire loyalty, but that's exactly what she felt at her friend's arch command.

'I understand it is popular with the baser citizens.' The darker woman plucked a speck from her skirt. 'Does DuMerle come here?'

Hot tea slopped into the saucer. Kari fixed a smile as she handed Oriel the cup. 'I don't believe so.'

'I trust you have had no dealings with that creature.'

'Of course not.' She slung the kettle on its hook. 'Oriel, is there something you want to ask?'

A wrinkle appeared in that pale, smooth brow. 'Una Fellon,' was the icy retort. 'Have you seen her of late?'

'Yesterday. Why?'

'She has not declared her infant.'

'It's dead.'

'A pity. I should have liked to look upon him.'

'A pity that the poor child is dead.'

'That depends.'

'On what?'

The darker woman raised the tea to her nose and inhaled. 'What leaf is this?'

'On _what_?'

Oriel lowered the cup without sipping a drop. 'Kari, I am not at liberty to discuss the matter. There is no cause for your concern. Unborns are not a priority.'

'And if he were born?'

An arched brow. 'He?'

'Would you demand to see him? Use us in your little plans?'

Wide eyes hardened into the sleek mould of an Aes Sedai's. 'Your condition is affecting your temper,' Oriel murmured before rising, hands smoothing the folds of her shawl. 'I'll leave you alone.'

'You didn't answer my question.'

Pausing, the dark woman tilted a faint smile over her shoulder. 'Take care, Kari.'

With a final billow of lavender, Oriel was gone.

So that was how it would be. A friend turned Aes Sedai. A friend no more.

Kari slumped onto her bed and lay back, hair a crimson spill on the sheets.

Her eyes felt scorched as she followed a goose feather's meander through a pale beam of sunlight.

'I won't let them,' she murmured, a promise to empty air.

The feather swooped in that wisp of breath, spun to settle out of sight.

She glanced down, smiled. The white down had come to rest low on her belly.

Her hand cupped the feather and the treasure beneath it. 'I won't let them.'

* * *

Despite her pains not to let the incident nettle, it was anger that got Kari through the day, fury that fuelled the too-wide smiles and too-loud jests. 

But where Kari was a spark, Dona was limp as a dishrag. The usually spry girl shuffled amid the evening revellers like a kitchen drudge, limbs slack, hair swinging into her furrowed face.

Kari's jokes were met by dull stares and shrugs. Even the promise of a feastday – the usual cue for a barrage of squeals and hugs - was met with apathy.

'Tandor. Tomorrow.' The girl sighed from the depths from her toes. 'How wonderful.'

The rest of the common room wasn't sharing Kari's determination for cheer either. Six brawls had already erupted amongst the tables from those bent on rebellion of the feast day abstinence to come.

Determined to soothe the savage crowd, and the horrible, itching feeling inside her skin, Kari soared through song after song, ringing the high notes until her throat ached for the limewash Durr had waiting at the bar.

'Hoping you don't mind,' said the big man as she hurried for a drink. 'But I had a word with Mariel – and don't you start on me, missy.'

Kari let her mouth snap shut and folded her arms instead.

'You've shouldered all the entertaining while that Dona's done nothing but sulk.'

'Don't be mean. She's upset.'

'Upset my eye – shirking more like. Anyhow, young Tam would gut me with that bloody sword of his if anything happens to you or—' Durr winced and swabbed the bar 'Or anything.'

He looked up when her hand closed on his. 'Thank you.'

Durr blushed – _blushed!_ – then turned the tables by lifting her hand to bestow a kiss.

'Tam would definitely gut you for that.'

'But I'd die a happy man, lass.'

Laughing, she threaded through her audience, catching the eye of a Arafellin with bells in his braids.

She sensed Mariel's raptor gaze as the man caught her up in his arms but there was no use in resisting; muscles like knots worked beneath his fustian sleeves.

Besides, it had been so long since she had danced. Men drummed tankards as her hair spun free, swirling autumn in the smoke.

Her laughter rang in the dry rafters, her feet flickered over the dusty boards. The Arafellin was young and spry, a worthy opponent, for that was how she saw them, these creatures of rough, foam-scuffed beards and breath that reeked of ale.

She spun, a flower in a whirlpool, into the arms of a blonde creature with sapphire eyes and smile that shone of ballrooms and roses, then a Taraboner had her, white teeth bared in a grin, then a Cairhein boy, a burly Tairen, a slim man with a shy smile.

A jewel in a midden, that's what she was, waiting for someone to rescue her, waiting for her rightful place amongst the glittering crystal, the velvet cushions, the painted smiles, the throatfuls of fine wine...

_The Emerald?__ On account of my eyes, they say. And my hair? Autumn fire. Let the commoners keep their wigs._

_Ankles the neatest in any ballroom, peeking from finest velvet.__ Try my waist - see? You can circle it with your hands._

_So the crow beat you at cards. Let me soothe you. Take some wine._

_Sweet?__ Isn't it just?_

_Sweet enough to take your breath away._

_Sweet enough to take your purse away, or that one's diamond cuff. Perhaps the comb in that painted maypole's hair._

_Forget the Magpie - let the Nightingale sing you a lullaby. _

_I promise you won't feel a thing._

A creak, the slither of a breeze about her ankles.

_Name the Dark One..._

A glance mid-whirl, a spun glimpse of white on black.

_….and He shall appear_.

Kari barely noticed her partner's quick breath on her cheek or the mottled grip of his hand.

A mass of gaudy skirts streaked by. Dona.

She swallowed, dry, hard, as the girl hurtled for the newcomer.

Dona stopped with a grunt, her wet eyes flitting between DuMerle and the scarred creature holding her at bay. Petrae smiled and tightened her grip on the girl's throat, her old, raw wound twisting like a second grin.

'Petrae,' DuMerle intoned, a master scolding his favourite hound.

The girl cringed when Petrae released her, slim fingers fluttering to her throat.

DuMerle slicked his gaze over the frozen common room. It seemed darker than ever, that glare. It lingered on her then slid to her partner.

She stole a glance at the man clutching her. It was Padan.

'Fain.' To all other ears the command would sound calm, soft. Dignified. She knew better.

His step was a drawling, measured swagger, his hat drawn low to hide his eyes. Kari could almost feel Fain cringe from that calculated prowl. She raised her chin as he stopped before them. A gloved rose in mute command, gestured at a shaded table. 'I believe we have a game to finish.'

A startled pause then the peddler's hot hand abandoned hers. His shoulders were straight and rigid as he strutted to the corner and she grinned deep in her belly. No easy meat, it seemed.

The hand that touched hers then was cold through its sheathe of leather. A shiver tripped along her spine.

'Did you take his purse, dearest?'

DuMerle's smile was cold, mocking. She bared her teeth in return as the Magpie followed his prey to the game.

As though a veil had been cast back, the bar sighed into life.

'Oh my lovely, my sweet little girl,' Mariel was cooing, smoothing hair from Dona's wet cheeks. 'I should toss the blackguard out on his ear.'

Dona was slumped into a chair, eyes clouded with distress. 'Kari.'

Light, what did DuMerle want with Padan? The Magpie was already seated, his gloved hands turning, cutting, sifting the lacquered cards.

'Oh, Kari,' Dona moaned again, clasping at her hand. A hand that still tingled from a cold, pale touch.

'Get up.'

'_Sh!_' hissed Mariel. 'You'll get her started again.'

Dona squeaked as Kari hooked her under each arm. 'Stop bawling – you're playing to his hand.' She hauled the limp girl afoot. 'Keep your cards close to your chest.'

Dona's lip shook. 'You sound like _him_.'

She felt the colour drain from her cheeks. Mariel stared on as she dragged the young dancer into the night.

Moonlight made ice of the cobbled yard and thebreeze nipped through her dress. Tethered horses whickered uneasily as Kari planted her fists on hips and rounded on the girl. 'What exactly are you playing at?'

'Playing?'

'Come on, Dona. I know you like your games almost as much as DuMerle does. Oh, be quiet,' she snapped when the girl loosed fresh whimpers at the mention of his name. 'What happened?'

'Ro-roses.'

'What?'

'White ones.'

_White._

Relief, grudging, glorious, loosened her chest.

Dona gulped a breath. 'He said they were special, that they never grew in fields because that's what common flowers did. And I'm not a common flower. I'm a rare one. And rare ones come from special glass houses, and that was where he found me my white roses.' The girl stopped, bosom hitching.

'That's it?'

'No,' Dona wailed. 'He said I was a pretty flower and that I belonged with his girls because then we'd be the prettiest posy this side of nor'harbour. So he brought me a dress, a pink one with white roses stitched into the hem, oh you should have seen it - all lace and embroidery and little white lacy gloves to match and—and—'

Kari thrust a ragged 'kerchief at the girl. 'Go on.'

'H-he took me to an inn. It looked so fancy, all full of pretty girls and perfume and little treats in silver trays. I kept taking a sweet every time the tray came by and the other girls looked cross but DuMer…._he_ just laughed and told me to eat all I liked because I was his favourite and his favourite always gets the best.

'And then this man came in and DuMer…._he_ told me I should go and speak to Rareford – that's the man – because Rareford was a good friend. Oh, he was so grand. He offered me something in a little silver box, but I said no because I tried snuff once and it made me sneeze myself giddy, but I saw him put some in my drink.'

Heat seeped into Kari's bones.

'And then I started feeling sickly and ran outside and DuMerle followed and was cross because Rareford was disappointed and it wasn't right to disappoint his best customers. But I was so sick. The he sent me into the kitchens and I felt even sicker and must have dozed off because then he was shaking me and dragging me into his carriage. I was nearly ill from all the rocking but he put this little bottle under my nose and the smell made me feel better.'

'Did he bring you back here?'

'He told me I was to go home but I was cold and sleepy and his cloak so warm….'

'What happened, Dona.'

'And he was so kind, his kisses so sweet….'

_Cherries_. _He tastes of cherries._

'I love him.'

'Oh, you silly, stupid little thing!' Skinny shoulders rattled in her grip. 'Did you bed him?'

'I….' Dona dragged a sleeve across her nose and rolled her an imploring look. 'Don't tell Mariel?'

'Mistresses Kari, Dona.' A slim shape detached from the shadows. 'Pardon the intrusion.'

'Oh, it is Master Fain,' came Dona's low, theatrical moan. 'He has heard all.'

'Your lady innkeep sent me on an errand.' Fain stepped into the moonlight and winked so quickly Kari thought she imagined it. 'Surprised I found you - can't hear a thing from all the din in there.'

Dona's shoulders slumped with relief. Kari could have kissed the little peddler.

'Mistress Mariel has made up some broth for you, Mistress Dona.'

Neither missed the girl's grimace. Padan laughed. 'Here,' He held out a white napkin. 'I smuggled you a pastry – seems they're popular around here.'

Dona squealed and snatched the baked roll. 'Mister Fain, you're a treasure.'

Quick as that, all her heartsick forgotten. Kari smothered a stab of envy as Dona dashed a kiss on the peddler's cheek and all but skipped inside.

'That was good of you.'

'The pastry? Well, I was tempted….'

Kari jabbed him on the arm. 'Really. Dona would have been devastated if she thought anyone had heard.'

'It's a shame – a sweet girl like that.'

'Padan—'

'I know, I know.' He made a warding gesture with his palms. 'I'll stay away from DuMerle. In future, anyway.'

'What happened?'

'I made a bad move.'

'Una?'

Padan hitched his shoulders. 'He won.'

Silence pulsed beneath the muffled din from the common room. A horse whickered softly. A bat wooed a moth in the silhouette of the moon.

'Thank you for the tea,' she blurted. 'Last night, I mean.'

'Hm? Oh, that – no trouble at all. Did it help?'

She remembered the untouched tea staining her floorboards and hoped the darkness covered her blush. 'Yes. You're very kind.'

'I've told you. It's a pleasure.'

There; a flicker of his lashes, a tightening of the lips. Fleeting and ethereal as his almost-wink in the moonlight – but she hadn't been wrong about that….

She rubbed at her upper arms, as though a sudden chill had crimped the gooseflesh there.

'They say winter is coming.' Padan shrugged free of his coat and slipped it over her shoulders. 'Don't be too long.'

Kari paced the yard a little while after Padan went inside, hoping the night would cool the fever in her bones.

Padan's coat was coarse and unlined. Fibres scratched her bare arms. Rough. Maddening.

Inside, Dona had taken to voice, her contralto wasted in a lewd roil of a song.

She ignored the creak of a door, the footsteps, the clack of hooves. No reason to pause, no reason for breath to hook in her throat. Just someone readying their steed for the journey home.

'You still dance like a thing possessed.'

Silk and honey. His voice made bliss of idle words.

'Did you bed her?'

'Do you care?'

Her eyes slid closed. 'You've ruined her.'

'That's beyond even my power.'

'You've ruined Una.'

'You wouldn't understand.'

_i'm__ the only one who could_

'Karietta.' His breath stirred the fine hairs on her neck. 'Don't trust him.'

She stepped forward, felt a gloved hand hover on her shoulder then drift away.

The ring of spurs, the creak of leather. The clatter of hooves on stone. Fading. Gone.

'Vyren.'

Somewhere in the darkness, a heron cried.

* * *

**Tandor** - The ninth day of Maighal. No one is supposed to let Tandor end still holding a grudge or having a disagreement with anyone. Although the intent is that the quarrelers should be reconciled, it is not unknown for festivites to be marred by attempts to meet the letter in quite another way - _from The World of Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time_


	5. Absolution

**Author's Note:** It just keeps on going, doesn't it? Many thanks to dontfeedfred, Mesaarah, and Rasielle (who has been very generous with reviews, all of which are very much appreciated) – you're a trio of shiny stars. Here's the last third person PoV for a while. All will be revealed soon, I swear it. Just bear with me a little…..while…..longer…..

**Disclaimer: **My dog made me do it.

* * *

_You are a rare find, Padan_ – Kari al'Thor

**Chapter Five - Absolution**

The man's eyes, the colour of a darkening sky, locked with hers.

Kari walked away when they dragged him to the fountain. She had seen enough.

Enough of the bruises on his face, of the hunch of his shoulders, of the bloodied bandages where his bow-fingers should be.

The mob blocked her path in their heat to see the Aielman die. Light, how she wished she could be like them. Bloodthirsty, hearts acid with hate.

_Try; your husband's blood could have washed those hands. _

She paused, turned, waited for a snarl to ignite.

They had him over the fountain now, savage hands forcing him under the murked water. It was quick - he didn't struggle. Laughter and cheers as they dragged his limp, dripping corpse from the basin. His eyes were open to the clouded sky. Red hair feathered his forehead like fresh blood.

He was smiling.

Kari walked away.

* * *

'Forgiveness.' Kari slowed beside a swell of briar-roses. Pink, not white. She cradled her teacup, eyes fixed on the blooms dark hearts. 'That is what they say of Tandor.' 

Her companion leaned to pluck a sprig, toyed it between his fingers. 'He was Aiel. You couldn't expect them to let him go.'

'They could have tried him.'

'Yes, for execution. Be thankful they had not the wits to prolong his torment.'

A sun-drowsed wasp dandled amid the pink roses and she withdrew her hand, took instead a sip of tea. It was almost as soothing as his presence. 'Tam threatened to run a man through, once. The fellow was drunk - wanted to know where my husband had found his 'Aiel wench'.' Her laugh trailed into a sigh. 'Even now I catch people looking at my hair. My eyes.'

'What man wouldn't?' was his murmured reply, so quiet she wasn't sure she had heard. Fain tugged the brim of his cloth cap lower. 'Kari, if ever you need my company. For protection, that is.'

'You are a rare find, Padan.'

'It takes one to know one.'

She hesitated before accepting his spray of delicate flowers. The strange, wary feeling melted as she tucked the blossom behind her ear.

Fain rolled his eyes an almost musical screech chimed through the garden. 'Don't let her run you ragged.'

Flipping a wave, Kari hurried to the kitchens where Mariel was in her usual high dudgeon. 'Shirking, on today of all days! Shirking be blowed, my girl – you get those lanterns and make a good job of it.'

The common room was bright and airy, the shutters flung wide to let in forgiveness and cast out old grudges. Grace and absolution were the heart of Tandor but in the back streets of Tar Valon they soon surrendered to a siege of cask-foam, oaths, and flying fists.

By dusk the lanterns would be torn, the ribbons tattered and ruined. For now, though, The Egg was at her best – tired and worn she may be, but the old girl could certainly scrub up with the best of them.

'Kari?'

Kari turned to find Dona holding a small, neat fold of parchment. 'Could you please give this to someone?'

'Absolving a grudge?'

Dona's smile faded before it could touch her topaz eyes. 'It's for DuMerle but I'm….frightened of that woman. She likes you, I can tell.'

Petrae? That wasn't exactly comforting.

Kari bit back a sigh. It was Tandor, after all. And didn't Dona know it. 'All right – but take some of these, will you? Swag them above the mantle.'

Smiling now, Dona dashed off, pretty lanterns swinging in time with her skipping steps.

The note was small and ink-stained and reeked of lavender. DuMerle hated the smell, always had. Fingering the messy seal – pale red and impressed with something wholly unidentifiable – Kari found she could slide almost her whole nail under it. A candle-flame and a knife and the thing would pop open like kernels on a campfire.

As if by instinct, her eyes moved to the lit hearth – the note would barely leave a smear of ash….

Lips tight, Kari slid the note into her bodice and set about making everyone's day a happy one.

* * *

And a happy day it was - until darkness brought the visitors. 

Before then, ale had frothed to foam and spew onto the rush-strewn floor, and the kitchens disgorged a seemingly endless parade of meats and pies and sweet egg puddings.

Those spoiling for a fight were hoisted into the streets to be swept away by the tide of revellers, protests drowned in rounds of cheers.

Kari kicked the drag from her heels and danced a turn with Durr (who was very red of cheek having sneaked a few nips from the cherry brandy reserved for the inn's 'special guests') while Dona danced enough for all of them, sparing a jig for a blushing Padan. Even Mariel cracked something that resembled a smile but could just as easily have been a touch of the grippe.

By sunset the guests of The Feathered Egg were either soused, snoozing, or both, and everyone agreed it had been a thoroughly agreeable day.

Then the soldiers came.

Few noticed their arrival but whispers spread like fire-pox and soon all eyes preyed on the two men walking past the tables.

The younger fellow, pale face lined and drawn, worried at his eye-patch and shuffled through the path cleared for him. His comrade, a slab of a man, barged to the bar and ordered two brandies, large, and none of that watered down nonsense.

The sight of soldiers was not one to be sniffed at, especially ones as ragged as this pair. Casual glances gave way to stares, stares to outright curiosity. Chairs shuffled closer to the newcomers, card games folded, drinks became barter for the promise of a grisly story or three.

Kari glanced around the room and caught sight of Padan, teeth clenched about his pipe and a book in his lap. He glanced up, as though sensing her, rolled his eyes, went back to his reading.

Then she saw something that smothered her smile; the one-eyed man was watching her, his blue gaze horribly intense.

Kari turned and circled the room, righted a crooked lantern, smiled at the guests. She approached the abandoned clavichord in its dark corner, creaked back its lid, poised fingers above the keys before slamming the cover shut. She breezed a compliment at Dona, rubbed at her upper arms as though a chill had seized her. Anything, anything to keep her mind from that gimlet eye.

'Came over like a bloody flood, they did,' the big man was booming at his rapt audience. 'Frothing and foaming. All you could see were eyes - swear some had red eyes, red as the blood on them spears. They was veiled as death.' He slugged his brandy, winced. 'They was bloody death.'

'I hear you, brother.' This from a braided Arafellin. 'My own eyes have lit upon them. Black-veiled, screaming - savages all.'

''Tis no honour to die at the hands of an Aiel,' muttered a man at the table closest to her.

'True and so. But they be coming, lads. They be coming o'er that Dragonwall to send all our souls to the Pit.'

A rumble rose from the tables, a susurrus of bleak omens.

'I saw a rook last night – at midnight, mind. There'll be death before month-end.'

'Well I seen my old lady crack eggs this morning, 'an them yolks was red as boils.'

'Death, brothers.'

'Aye, death.'

'It be coming.'

'_Death_—'

'What happened to ye, my lad?'

Kari snapped her gaze to the young soldier. His remaining eye was darting like a spooked vole. 'Aiel spear-point. It caught me, see? I'd already got him in the gizzards - his guts were on my boots and he kept coming. He got me again.' The boy rested a hand on his thigh, slowly, as though pain still hunkered there. 'May lose the leg yet. Keep on losing bits an' me own ma won't recognise me.'

A chuckle from those in ear-shot.

The Arafellin leaned over the table, braids tinkling. 'And your troop? What of them?'

'Slaughtered, like sows in cull.' An old man pushed him a mug of ale and the boy drained it in one draught. 'But I got some of them see? Only had me knife 'cause my sword got broke, but I got some.' His too-bright grin faded. 'The last one was tall, taller still than me. Came screaming in that weird way, spear low an' eyes like slits. My mate Frey had just gone down like a barrel of rocks and his blood was on me. Light, the stink of it.' His throat bobbed, as though he were close to gagging. 'I grabbed 'is gullet an' I was screaming too. You should have seen that one's eyes. They were wide and that's when I knew, I knew they weren't animals after all. They were like us. 'An this one was spit scared. I choked 'im to the ground and he stopped moving. Stupid - I felt sort of bad about it. Thought I should know the face of my foe, like old Captain used to say. So I pulls back that veil, see? An' I knew afore I did it there was something wrong, something _bad. _And I sees that it's a woman.'

His hands were shaking too badly to pick up the brandy set before him. He cupped his face in that trembling grip. 'Ain' never hurt a woman before. Ain' so much as touched...but they made me k-…..they made me kill one.'

'Kari.' Padan's touch was light on her elbow. 'Come away.'

The boy was sobbing now. Kari let herself be led to the bar.

'You shouldn't have to see that.'

'Neither should he,' she murmured, eyes still on the maimed youngster.

'Don't ask him.'

She jerked her gaze to Fain.

'Don't,' he said again.

Her throat tightened. 'He might know – he might have seen him.'

'That army is tens of thousands strong. There's no way he could have seen Tam. Let the boy be.'

'Call themselves soldiers.' Mariel snorted as she bustled to the bar. 'Too busy puling to pour a drink down their necks. Sing, girl. Something merry. Go on, hurry now.'

Fain gave a sympathetic nod as she left for the small dais. Her throat felt thick, as though she were coming down with a stuffed head.

Eyes followed her as she wove between the tables. Her skin prickled with their weight. Dazed, she jolted into something hard and blurted an apology. Petrae just grinned. Kari couldn't bring herself to care what that meant. She wove around the woman, too sick tonight for DuMerle's games.

A few heckles rang as she climbed the small steps to the stage. Resentment greased the air, thick as cold stew. They watched, even the ones she recognised, those she had sang to for months. She knew how she must look; tall and slender, wide shouldered and narrow hipped. Red hair, grey eyes. Fitting prey for this side of the Dragonwall.

Hands locked before her, Kari cleared her throat – it felt like her frantic heart had lodged there - and began. She realised her mistake before the second bar. Her reckless mind had cast forth a battle song, but one that was a merry farce, a scathe of bumbling soldiers and drunken generals, of mightier foes who meted well-deserved death.

Images sparked before her; Mariel's face, a picture of shock and outrage fit for canvas. Petrae, head thrown back in a raw, raucous laugh. The first man striding to the dais had to be Padan. The other was young, lean, and had a steely, one-eyed glare.

Mouth already stuttering an apology, she hopped from the stage and nearly fell into the scowling soldier. He steadied her, blinked – and spat in her face.

The bar erupted, men cursing, mugs thudding, feet thumping flagstone.

Wriggling, she caught a flash of Padan, face twisting as he tried to reach her.

The boy held her firm, his lone eye glittering with fury. 'Bitch,' he snarled, all youth wrung from his face. 'Flaming Aiel-faced bitch.'

She ducked, arms wrapped around her stomach, and waited for the blow. It never came.

Tears blurred as she opened her eyes; a black figure swam before her, connected to her assailant by a silvery line. She blinked and the tears tumbled free.

DuMerle flicked her glance and jerked his narrow sword higher. The soldier strained on tip-toe, his eye rolled downwards to the steel under his chin.

'There are certain individuals under my protection,' DuMerle drawled, as though merely commenting on the clement weather. 'You, my gallant friend, are not one of them.'

'Here now, there's no need.' The bigger soldier raised his palms as Petrae sprang in front of him, knife bared to match her teeth.

The Magpie ticked his sword-blade in the direction of the door. 'It seems you've outstayed your welcome.'

Edging around Petrae, the hulking soldier grasped a fistful of his friend's sleeve. He young boy went quietly, his remaining eye blinking. Kari heard the beginnings of a garbled apology before the door slammed shut.

DuMerle sheathed his blade and tossed her a 'kerchief. 'You have something on your cheek.'

Petrae's laughter was the only sound in the room.

'Come.' Padan took Kari's hand and led her to the stairs, his eyes tight.

Fain turned to her after closing his chamber door but she fended off his comfort, walked stiffly to the table where the painting of his homeland lay. She imagined the grass beneath her bare feet, the sun a warm crown on her hair, her boy-child content at her breast.

Footsteps scuffled outside; Mariel and Dona hoping for some scrap to carry downstairs.

Padan had slumped into a chair, his face taut with concern. He could barely meet her gaze. 'Like no feastday I've ever seen,' he muttered.

'Dearheart, do come down.' Oh, she was in trouble now. Always was when Mariel made syrup of her tongue. 'Those dreadful soldiers have gone and someone wants to see you.'

'Kari,' Dona's voice now; clipped, curt. '_He's_ in the parlour. He wants to talk.'

'Tell him to jump in the bilge.'

Padan snorted, rubbed at his temples, snorted again.

Silence then a timid tap. 'Please, dearest.'

'It's folly to be drawn into his games,' Padan said quietly. 'You know that.'

'Please, Kari? _Please_—'

Mariel was almost begging, and with reason. For The Egg to lose DuMerle's protection….she headed for the door. Fain leapt up, seized the doorknob before she could twist it open.

She watched his hands as they cupped hers; they were long-fingered and fine, almost delicate. 'I have to. I owe him.'

'But that's not all, is it? There's more.'

'It's none of your concern.'

'Trust me, Kari.'

'It is none of your concern,' she snapped, yanking the door to Dona and Mariel's startled faces.

Her skirts whipped as she swept past them, down the stairs, through the silent bar and to the parlour door. She knocked once, hard, pulled Dona's note free with one hand and flung the door wide with the other.

DuMerle stood poised by the mantle, gaze deep in the dancing flames.

He looked up when she thrust the note at him. Amused, he took it with gloved fingers. 'Been keeping it warm for me, I see.'

She refused to blush as he slid the seal open. They both watched the white petal flutter to the floor. DuMerle regarded it for a long while. 'Ah,' he said, finally.

''Ah'? A girl throws her heart at your feet and that's all you can say?'

'Oh, Karietta. Haven't we been through this before?' he chided, dark eyes scanning the note. 'Now let's see….undying love, tear-soaked pillows….I have the key to her heart, apparently. Can't for the world remember where I put it.' Smiling, DuMerle crumpled the note and tossed it into the fire.

'Disgusting.'

'I know - purple prose. It's all a bit excessive, really.' He crossed his arms and leaned on the mantle. 'How are you, Karietta?'

That last part delivered in a voice so warm, so tender. So unlike him.

'Better than Dona.'

His fine brows knitted. 'Who? Oh, that little dancer again. Let's talk about something else, shall we.'

'Such as?'

'We could discuss payment.'

'For what?'

'I did you a favour in there.'

'Of course,' she snapped. 'Nothing's free with the Magpie.'

'Were you flattered, darling? Sorry to disappoint.'

'What do you want?'

'A dance, a song, you in a pretty dress. It's been a long time.'

'Not long enough.'

'How trite. Marriage has dulled that vicious tongue of yours.'

'Leave my husband out of this.'

A slow smile. 'With pleasure.'

'Tell me what you want.'

'It's Tandor. Time to set aside all those silly resentments. I shall be attending a ball shortly – the first in a while. Like all masterpieces, I need suitable accompaniment.'

'Go to the Pit.'

'Your timing is all off, darling. _This_ is the part you're supposed to be flattered.'

'I won't be drawn into your games.'

'No games. Just you, I, and a soiree. It is small means of repayment.'

'A fitting match for my life, then?'

'Much better,' he crooned. 'I believe we're finally getting somewhere.'

'Very well,' she snapped, relishing his flicker of surprise. 'On one condition - after the ball I expect never to see you again.'

'A final farewell. How dramatic.'

'That's my offer, DuMerle. My last.'

She struck out her hand and he took it, gently.

'Very clever, nightingale,' he murmured, eyes aglow with appreciation. 'And all on your terms.'

'Goodnight, DuMerle.'

She half-turned, froze as he touched her hair. His hand came away with the rose Padan had given her. 'Pink?'

She pasted a sickly smile. 'White?'

DuMerle grinned. A flick of his wrist and the flower joined the note in the fire. 'Sweetest dreams, my songbird.'

She left, feeling not for the first time that she hadn't won at all.

* * *

'Quite a day, hm?' 

She managed a smile; for Durr it was not much of a chore.

He gave his broom a rest and leaned on the handle. 'Shouldn't you be abed?'

'Oh, I'm much too tired for sleep.'

'Limewash?'

'I'm definitely too tired for that.'

'All right, lass.' Durr swished the broom, half-heartedly rearranging the dust from the hearth. 'Give me a shout if you need anything.'

Her smile withered as soon as Durr shouldered his way into the kitchen.

Knees drawn to her chest, she snuggled deep into the blanket. It was growing cold. She could almost believe winter was coming.

Dark eyes flickered in the flames and she shivered, not with cold this time.

_A dance, a song, you in a pretty dress._ _It's been a long time._

'Drink.'

It was too hot but she sipped all the same. Padan settled on the spark-pocked rug, legs crossed beneath him. 'You—'

'—Should be abed. I know.'

Her gaze had wandered to the fire again. She jerked it away.

'It's him, isn't it?'

She took another sip of tea.

'Tell me.'

_Don't trust him, Karietta_

'Did he hurt you?'

_Trust me, Kari_

'Did he?'

_Trust is the colour of death_

'Once.' Her voice sounded very small. Very far away. 'A long time ago.'

'Tell me, Kari.' He leaned close. He smelled of dusk and dust and old books. 'Tell me.'

She did.


	6. The Magpie and the Nightingale Part I

**Author's Note:** Humungous thanks to Firedroplet and Zorpisuttle for the glorious and joyriffic reviews, and also to Rasielle for making me feel rather special indeed :). I'm glad you enjoy my WoT witterings.

Story-wise, I felt I'd taunted everyone with Kari and DuMerle's history long enough, hence this first of three sub-chapters that should help clear things up. A little. I hope.

**Disclaimer:** None of this would be possible without the great Mr Jordan – cheers, sir.

* * *

_You wish to hear more? I warn you that it will not be pretty_ – Karietta al'Thor 

**The Magpie and the Nightingale (Part I)**

I know the question; I can see it in your eyes.

How can the humble tavern-maid be linked with that piebald soul DuMerle?

Light knows I've tortured myself enough. Perhaps it is time to tell all, for my sake as much as the sake of your curiosity.

It begins like this:

I was an only child. Two weeks after my first naming day a sickness swept through my village, taking my mother's life and Father's sight. My mother slipped from memory like grease from a skillet, and I soon became the heart of Father's attention.

In turn I became his eyes, careful to never rearrange the furniture, reminding him of tricksome floorboards, accompanying his walks, describing the greens and blues and all the beauty and colour that was my home.

Father was never a loving man, but he was fair and kind in his own way. I knew he missed my mother terribly. Sometimes I was glad of his blindness, for the villagers would often point out the likeness between she and I, and those similarities would have pained Father more than I could have borne.

In time Father became as deft at navigating our home as before his sight was stricken.

The less he came to depend on me, the wilder I became. Impetuous and headstrong, and with no one to temper my impulses, I was soon fighting with the rougher lads, roiling in streams, scampering with the dogs 'til I was dizzy.

I found friends, made enemies. As my ragged dresses grew tight on hip and breast, I fell for countless boys in that giddy, reckless sort of love that afflicts all young girls, even the wild ones, meeting them for secret, clumsy kisses in the old abandoned mill.

Yes, life was good and I was happy.

Then Maise took things in hand.

Maise had nursed me after mother's death, for she had younglings of her own was never dry of pap. She was a widow, with skin the colour of cheap tallow and a lumpy body like a candle left atop a lit stove. Whenever I turned, Maise was there, watching with her tombfang eyes.

Mere days past my sixteenth naming day, Father announced that he was to marry Maise.

I was furious. I detested the old lickspittle and couldn't help but wonder whether all her time spent in our cottage was calculated for this end.

Father had new eyes now, even though Maise was too dull, too simple, to describe the world like I did. She was stupid, bovine. I despised her in a way that frightened me. Yes, I have always had a temper and it runs with streak that's deep and vicious.

Fearing what might be, I ran away often, returning only when chill had taken my bones or hunger had at my belly like rats gnawing on butter-rind.

Father grew less patient, less just.

'Why can't you be more like Rinna?' he would demand in his gruff way. Ha! Rinna was Maise's eldest and spent more time up at the old mill than the rutting rats.

Each of Maise's whelps was sired from different stock yet each treated my father like their own. The more they fawned, the more flattered he became, and flattery was a balm to Father's grief, still raw after all these years.

In the shadows of the interlopers I grew thin and wretched, pale and bitter. On the eve of summer solstice I resolved to leave for good.

And that is how I came to Caemlyn.

* * *

Is that not what you expected? Did you imagine a tale of torment, of the innocent child and her brutal stepmother? I was fed, I was clothed. I was loved, in a quiet, simple way. I had little reason to flee. 

Unlike dear Oriel.

My closest friend, and of an age with me, Oriel lived with her uncle for the same sickness that had taken my mother had left her an orphan. The uncle was young and kindly seeming and, for a time, I envied my friend. Unlike Father he was affectionate, always hugging and pressing kisses on Oriel, laughing when she drew shyly away.

When I confessed of my leave-taking, Oriel pleaded to come too. I was astonished, then overjoyed. What an adventure it would be! The night we stole away was calm and clear save for the gauze of smoke creeping through the trees. I turned, eyes instinctively seeking and finding the source. Grabbing Oriel's hand, I made to run towards the blaze, for it was the girl's 'stead burning in that lonely dale. Her sobs stopped me. I knew then what she had done. A sudden, reeling memory – the rough hugs and whispers and lingering kisses – and I also knew why. As we trudged away from the fierce glow, I kept my eyes from her white face and tried not to imagine what he…but it is done with, now.

Let me tell instead of our first weeks in Caemlyn.

They were cold and they were miserable. The noise drove us near-mad; trundling carriages and hawking tradesmen, dogs howling, children wailing. The flies were a ceaseless, hovering storm, and the smell…we scarcely ate, hardly slept, and our only comfort was tears.

I longed for home, even that stupid sack called Maise, but my pride was too great. Oh yes, I am prideful too. Notch that on my list of failings or I fear you shall lose count.

With our light fingers and swift feet, we soon learned the wiles to survive. Oriel, a beauty with her creamy skin and pitch hair, would jostle into ogling noblemen and leave them a winning smile and an empty purse. I would scurry along with my little fang-knife, slitting belts and strings like a born thief. Light help us, we thought it a game.

We were young enough to thrive, mould ourselves into a life that courted our restless natures and malcontent.

It was after a ball that we met the Aes Sedai.

We found ourselves outside a gilded manor with a rabble of smellfeasts, starving wraiths who trailed the scent of wealth like dogs. Bored and restless, we giggled and fluttered lashes at passing noblemen, poked our tongues at the crinolined ladies, swigged from jugs of brandy-ale.

We were well on the way to getting soused when a blue-cloaked woman approached. I had sense to bob a sloppy curtsey but Oriel was entranced; the woman was beautiful as only Aes Sedai can be, her contralto voice soft but commanding. In turn the smiling creature showed great interest in my friend, asking odd questions and even touching a hand to her cheek.

When the woman began spouting all manner of nonsense about sparks and abilities I grew restless, scuffing my feet so Oriel would know it time to move on.

And Oriel did move on. But not with me. She was aboard a carriage for Tar Valon two days later, tears failing to mask her excitement. I could have gone too, but the idea of drudgery while she became a great and powerful Aes Sedai was too much to bear. Stubborn and headstrong as a she-mule, that was me, and if it hadn't been for...well, we shall get to that soon enough.

Surviving on the streets was a savage art. Surviving alone was worse still. The beggar-gangs sensed weakness in me now, the loner in the wilderness. Without Oriel I was caught often, once even pilloried for the greater and good of Caemlyn to hoot and jeer at me. I grew thinner and paler, too weak and timid to steal.

I had barely scraped a meal in five days when he found me.

He was round and old, his whiskers like the tusks of those huge grey creatures you find in books.

And the reason he came? Simple; he followed my call.

Yes, I had finally found my voice. Father had no ear for music, always bellowed at me to 'stop my twittering' when I was in my merry, singing moods.

In time I learned to keep quiet, but I had seen beggars use their charms to feed themselves. Men who were still handsome and strong would make the ladies drunk enough on flattery to unlace their purse-strings. Children would sell their tears, the young, half-pretty women their bodies.

I was neither strong nor child-like, and my scrawny body was not the sort to inspire lust, but I had a voice and, slowly at first, crowds would pool to toss coins at my feet.

The other beggars looked on in envy and one night, without ceremony, hauled me from my patch into the cold unknown.

I wandered, wept 'til my cheeks grew chapped and raw, curled on my side and begged for my dead mother to come and fetch me. I was feeling heartily sorry for myself when old tusk-face appeared, one hand tucked in his velvet waistcoat, the other reaching for my scrawny arm. I shall never forget his smile, nor what he said to me;

'Come, little songbird. Let us find you a nest.'

I followed him into the night, weeping with something I couldn't recognise.

* * *

Light, let me some wine. Do not frown so – I shall not sup much. I grow hoarse in the telling. Hmm? Oh, my saviour – no, I shall not neglect him. 

He was called Fairworth, and he lived up to his name.

I was weeping with joy, I realised, when we reached my new home. Relief also, but mostly sheer, untainted happiness.

Fairworth's house was princely in my eyes, though I now realise it was quite humble for his stature. His generous heart, Light bless it, was more concerned with spreading his fortune than conserving it. Not that I suffered, of course. My body grew sleek and strong in his care, my hair abundant with curls and restored to its audacious red. He dressed me in the finest gowns and all he asked in return was my voice.

I sang to him morning and night, and each time he wept great rolling tears that melted into his whiskers.

But even the kindest, dearest men grow weary of their trifles. I was aghast when he brought another stray to his home mere months after my arrival.

This Saldean could sketch and paint things better than they appeared in life. Worse still she was utterly breathtaking. How I envied her dark, tilted eyes, her curves and slow smiles. Her cheekbones were high and regal and my face felt doughy in comparison, her hair rich and sleek while mine was gaudy and rough.

I was certain I would lose my Fairworth and so one night, after I had been in his home barely a season, I crept beneath his crisp, fine-spun sheets.

Shocked?

He was dear to me, and I had all but adopted the other duties of a wife. Besides, I simply could not afford to lose him. I had grown accustomed to the lifestyle. Truer still, I feared abandonment more than death.

From then on I slept in my saviour's bed. Most nights we shared no more than an embrace, and when his kisses grew hot, it was worth the discomfort.

You wish me to stop? Am I not the sweet little songbird you imagined? Be not so quick to judge – others may do the same of you someday.

Please, sit down. Did I mention I had a temper? My apologies – I should warn you that the worst is yet to come. If you do not wish to hear it...very well, I shall continue.

In time Fairworth brought others home, more waifs in which he saw potential. Oh, not in that way – I was the only one who shared his blankets. Ciara, the Saldean beauty, became a lauded artist, much desired by the court for she could create likenesses to please even the vainest noble.

A black-eyed, black-skinned girl we named Dore was the dancer of our little troop. No one knew her true name for she never spoke a word, but her body made speech seem crude. The girl could shout, whisper or jeer with a subtle lilt of her flesh. In converse she used a stylus worn 'round her neck. I loved to watch her write, using a quill to impress pretty words in the reddish wax. None of us grew close to Dore but we loved her all the same.

Tillalia was the youngest, an orphan of a _Tuatha'an_ clan destroyed by vengeful spark in the night. She possessed no great talent, but it was plain why Fairworth had taken her in – no one could resist her huge, liquid eyes.

But Fairworth's benefaction was not reserved for girls alone. Much to Ciara's delight the old man brought home a bright-haired, bright-skinned creature that had us each nursing a throbbing heart. His name was Meredith and amazingly he had no idea of his effect on women. The boy played as though born with a lute in his hands. We would sigh and swoon as his music shimmered like sundrops, lighting his pretty face and butter-coloured curls. He was shy and blushed as he posed for Ciara's many sittings, but over time the artist and her muse grew to love each other. We all approved of the match, although a few pillows were dampened the night they announced the bethrothal.

The last arrived while I was helping Fairworth choose an outfit for Dore's latest performance. I had been in his safety for over a year and felt very sure of myself as we strolled arm-in-arm through the sun-baked markets. Slowly, so his 'children' would not baulk, Fairworth had begun introducing us to society. I had yet to have my turn in the marble halls, but already Dore and Ciara had delighted the courts. I was curious yet determined to be patient. My time would come.

I was dozing when the carriage trundled into Fairworth's estate. Ciara and Tilly came dashing to greet us, babbling about a new arrival. My mind felt stuffed with sunlight so I made apologies and headed for my room. I cast off my bonnet and lay on the bed, heart pounding. I must have slept deeply for, when I awoke, twilight and the strangest music were drifting on the balmy air. For a time I believed myself to be dreaming...but no; I could hear Ciara's giggles and Meredith's entreaties in the next chamber, and a scuttling in the kitchens that could only be Tilly poaching honeycakes.

I crept from the bed and into the hall. That music…Light, I was drunk with it.

It seemed I floated downstairs, that the door sighed adrift at my touch.

I barely noticed Fairworth in the corner of the music room, or his gesture to remain silent. As if I could have spoken!

A stranger was seated before a strange instrument; a man with a straight, narrow back, and black hair.

Hardly breathing, I edged closer to Fairworth.

Never before had I seen anything like this creature. His white, white hands worked the keys, stroking, caressing, seducing sound into the night.

I had only ever seen Meredith play the clavichord and he did so with joy in his eyes, a smile on his lips.

As well compare noon with midnight.

This one's eyes were closed, his lips and brows twisted as though in pain. He played hard, forcing harmonies as dark and unsettling as their master.

I'm sure I didn't breathe until his hands crashed the final chord. It wept, it raged. It thrummed like blue haze after lightening.

A sound startled me; Fairworth, clapping.

'Well done, Vyren. Very well done.'

Well done? My body felt bruised, my eyes burned as I remembered to blink. To sing with that music, to drift and soar on its tides.

It would be…

'Perfect!' exclaimed Fairworth. 'The perfect match – Kari, you shall perform together at the next ball.'

I nodded, gaze locked on master's new discovery. He hadn't moved; eyes closed, black hair splayed on his pale, almost luminescent skin, hands still poised above the keys as though the music would seize him again.

'Kari?' I forced myself to look at Fairworth's flushed, gleeful face. 'Please arrange a suitable score – here now, let me just…'. But I had already forgotten him.

The final member of our group was looking at me, black eyes glittering in that white face. Then he winked.

And that is how I met DuMerle.

* * *

You wish to hear more? I warn you that it will not be pretty. I have already fallen so far in your eyes, I am certain. 

Yet this is who I am, what I was made to be. And you should know of DuMerle…ah, yes, DuMerle - the firedrop in Fairworth's crown.

Ciara was entranced, of course, her sunny lute-player suddenly eclipsed by a pale, mysterious moon. At first, DuMerle scarcely gave her a second glance. What's that? An act of conscience? Oh, _please_.

Scruples, as you will learn, are beneath the Magpie.

He pursued and won Dore, chanted nonsense-rhymes to Tilly 'til she was sick with giggles. He performed duets with an awestruck Meredith, posed for hours in Ciara's compositions.

In short, he charmed them all. I was not such easy prey.

We had all come from the gutter but I remembered the predators that stalked there; those of easy smiles and quick tongues, eyes seeking, weighing the vulnerable like a seasoned hunter.

DuMerle was of that breed. You could glimpse it sometimes, before he learned to guard himself completely. The flash of his eyes, the cant of his head, the tautness of his crooked smile.

I had him pegged to his bootstraps by morning - and he knew it. After our first meeting we circled one another like cats. But curiosity wins out with our kind every time.

On the second night after his arrival, I found DuMerle in a shadowed hallway. I was naked but for my shift and the moonlight sheared through the pale cotton as cleanly as if it were glass. But he kept that dark gaze locked with mine.

'Say goodnight to Fairworth for me.'

A wicked grin and he was off, strutting down the corridor like a perfumed popinjay. Ashes, I was furious! That crow knew in one week what I had kept secret for months.

As I slid into Fairworth's bed I knew DuMerle would use the knowledge to his gain. But how?

The next morning DuMerle had Dore in a corner, his fingers toying a lock of her coarse, black hair.

He was whispering something – how the Magpie loves to whisper! – and Dore flicked a glance at me, just once. What had the sly creature told her?

She was the first, but before the week was out DuMerle had thrust a wedge twixt each of us.

Dore shared his nights, but Ciara took his secret daytime kisses, certain she was besting the pretty dancer. Dear, sweet Meredith became convinced his Ciara was lying with the stable-lad – oh yes, the Magpie loves to whisper. And all had me pinned as the mercenary sneak using Fairworth to gain favour.

And we both know that last part isn't strictly true. Mostly, but not strictly.

When Meredith, unable to bear his lover's betrayal, left under cover of darkness, Ciara wailed for days. Not even old Fairworth could soothe her and she was the next to abandon us.

Her parting, tear-smudged note thrust the blame squarely at poor Dore. Those barbed words drove the pretty dancer into a sorrow of guilt and she fled before summer blazed into autumn. A pity; she was the best of us.

Dear, sweet Fairworth could only mutter and scratch his head as his once harmonious troupe trembled into discord, and somewhere along the way I began to admire DuMerle, the sheer _audacity_ of him. We were alike, he and I. More than I cared to admit.

In those dark, dim days when Tilly would cling to me as though terrified that I too would disappear, DuMerle played his music often.

Some nights I would steal from my bed, drawn by that haunting sound. In those moments - bewitched, breathless, pressed to his chamber door - I couldn't get close enough.

'Karietta.'

Except I did.

'I know you are there.'

I steadied myself a moment, fingers splayed on the door, before entering. He played on, raven hair caught in a black ribbon, slender hands stroking, stroking the keys.

'I'm sorry.'

I froze. I had not expected this.

'It was a game, you see? I am very good at them. You could be too.'

How _dare_ he? I itched to slam the clavichord cover on his hateful fingers.

'I see the viper in your eyes. I know you, Karietta.'

He was, still is, the only one who ever called me that.

'I'm leaving.' He stopped, turned. His eyes were very grave. 'Come with me.'

A thrill, like a nerve juddering in some deep, secret heart of me.

I almost said it - the word hung on my parted lips.

_Yes._

_Oh, yes._

'No. Never.'

His skin was as pearl in the moonlight. In the same place that secret nerve pulsed, I _knew_ him.

He smiled - 'Never?'- and played on.

I backed from the room. Yes, I would go with him, to the Blight if he demanded.

But not so easily – he would have to work harder than that. You see, I like my games too. How my dark secret heart had thrilled at watching our troupe unravel like cheap lace.

I was in thrall of his deceit, his sheer lust for anarchy.

I realised then what I had known from the first;

I had to have him.


	7. The Magpie and the Nightingale Part II

**Author's Note:** Many thanks to Rasielle and Zorpisuttle for the reviews. Here's more wittering from Kari.

**Disclaimer: **I don't WoT. I just covet it.

* * *

_This is an unexpected delight. I do so enjoy visitors_ - DuMerle 

**The Magpie and the Nightingale (Part II)**

Ridiculous, impossible, foolish beyond measure.

All the same I yearned, entranced by his hands and wicked smile, his narrow shoulders and hips and the way he draped them in black.

I still lay with Fairworth, but when he reached for me in the dark it was a defter touch I craved, another's name on my breath.

Never before had I felt such longing. Desire, pure as pain, raged with my pulse.

Why I do believe you're blushing. Is it wrong to want a man then? What makes my yearnings any less that yours, or those brutes who sear me with their hot eyes?

I cared not for decency then, I make mere pretence of it now.

And in my dreams I heard those two glorious notes again and again, the sweetest music ever heard.

_dumerle_ _dumerle dumerle_…

* * *

Naturally, DuMerle timed it to perfection - from that slow, calculated wink he knew he had me. 

Treacherous crow.

But he was not the Magpie then. Not quite. The germ was in him, the seed that would become his black heart; yet some part of him was untouched, a part not yet cloaked with lies.

I saw it when he played his music, when he tweaked Tilly's ear or played nonsense songs that sent her into fits of giggles. I saw it when Fairworth praised him, in the guilty twitch of his cheek.

I saw it the first time we performed in court.

Thrilled I was, jubilant and so dizzy that Fairworth pleaded with me to sit still lest I make myself sick.

DuMerle was collected as ever, as though born to opulence. I knew he was planning something; he had been gracious to me that morning, bowing as I sat for breakfast, opening the carriage door, enquiring after my voice, even bringing chalked water to gargle.

My glares went unnoticed. I clenched my fists as we were called forth and tried not to tense my delicate muscles of my throat.

A patter of applause as we entered the hall, clipped and polite. The room was like a huge crystal, pleasing or piercing with the shift of an eye. Perfume and incense made me pinch a sneeze.

On stilted legs I approached the farthest reaches of the hall, dazzled by the gowns and wigs and chandeliers.

DuMerle swaggered to the golden clavichord with its keys of pearl and onyx. But he was not to be outdone by the instrument.

Without so much as a nod for cue he launched a frenzy of notes.

I could sense Fairworth's dismay, for I had hardly warmed my voice and it was custom to begin with a temperate piece.

Fans began to wick the air and my voice choked in my throat. The nobles were displeased – this deviation was improper, impolite, an offence to tradition.

DuMerle was smiling, a true smile, hair whipping about his brow as he slammed the keys. Light. Fairworth would be disgraced.

Desperate, I opened my throat and sang. I felt as though worms were turning through my breakfast, but my voice did not flutter like my belly. It soared, it peaked, it chimed in the chandeliers.

DuMerle, furious now I was certain, sent scales wheeling and dipping and swirling like skylarks and I chased them, as though sensing what notes he would let fly. Sweat began to wend between my breasts. Grey spackled my vision, and I knew I had not the breath to go on. But on I went, like a bird singing fit to burst its heart, years of sorrow pouring from my lips.

With a last dazzling trill, it was over.

As our final cry mingled and faded, another sound took up. It was deafening. I almost covered my ears before I realised it was applause. Our audience was ecstatic, baying in an utterly un-noble fashion.

I spun, eyes full, to DuMerle. His cheeks were flushed, his skin dewed with sweat, his lips parted slightly and curled in a smile. He was staring at me, _staring_, as though I was suddenly worthy of his attention. In that moment I knew something greater than desire.

I knew love.

* * *

It was downhill on a greased platter from there. 

I could not bear to be parted from him, shadowed him about Fairworth's big, drafty house like a wisp from one of those old stories; pale and hardly there, doomed to pine.

At times I raged against the ache in my chest, at others abandoned myself to it, lying a-bed for hours with nothing but sighs for company.

Our little duet was the talk of Caemlyn's lower echelons, but I cared not.

I cared only for my blackbird.

Naturally, _he_ acted like nothing had ever happened, as though our performance was merely a modest success. As though our song had never existed.

Music practise was bliss. To sit and watch – simply watch – that creature play…yet when I tried to sing he would remember a sitting with Ciara, or a game he promised to teach Tilly, anything that would allow leave of the room. Lies sugared with the most urbane of smiles.

I agonised over refusing his proposal to leave, certain that I had disappointed him. Terrified he _would_ leave, I spent countless nights wide eyed, bolting upright every time a board creaked or Tilly shifted in her sleep.

Torture, bittersweet torture.

But the Magpie was hatching a plan.

One morning with the bite of winter on the wind, DuMerle appeared at my chamber door.

Again I saw that strange flush to his face. That I was not the cause stabbed at my heart, but his next words changed everything.

'Pack no more than you need.'

He was gone before I sputter a reply. Leave? My breath rattled as I flung everything from smalls to gowns into a trunk. I remembered Fairworth was on business and faltered. I should have liked to say goodbye and thank him for his kindness. But I could hear DuMerle downstairs; DuMerle, waiting for _me_.

Tilly was on the landing, eyes wide as I rushed past. On impulse I grabbed her hot little hand and hauled her down the stairs, infected with DuMerle's urgency.

I gasped when I saw the state of our home. Smashed ornaments jagged the floor - the ones DuMerle couldn't escape with.

He was dressed in his customary black, but for travel this time with high boots and a sturdy cloak.

'Hullo dearheart.'

'You robbed him?' I demanded, gazing at sacks lumpy with Fairworth's possessions.

'He can buy more.' I saw him flick a glance at Tilly, as though weighing her usefulness. 'Come along.'

'No.'

'Karietta—'

'No!'

Suddenly he was very close, white hand grazing my cheek. 'I cannot do this alone.' His voice was dark and smooth. 'I need you.'

I would have done anything for him then and he knew it, even help lug sacks into a waiting cart. A stolen cart, as it turned out.

Tilly clung to me as he raced us through the streets, but my heart was flying. I knew not where he was taking us, cared not.

I loved him and in that shining moment thought he loved me.

He took us to the city gates and suddenly I realised why. For days there had been talk of the _Tuatha'an_ camped outside the city. Many gathered at dusk and daybreak to hurl stones at their caravans.

I pitied them, perished the thought of living like an outcast.

Now I was.

'Hurry now, little songbird.'

I stared at DuMerle's outstretched hand. Tilly had already scampered to a caravan bright enough to make me wince, straight into the arms of a small, jolly looking Tinker.

'We will be safe?'

DuMerle laughed. 'Safe, Karietta? Light, we shall be kings!'

* * *

I have had years to weep. Why shame myself with tears now? 

Do I regret betraying Fairworth? Every day. Trusting DuMerle? Aye, 'til my deathbed. Am I sorry I fell in love? No. Call me not romantic. Fool would be closer.

Forgive my tears. They will not last. I have not the stomach for weeping.

* * *

For months we travelled, months of cold nights and colder looks. 

We were reviled, hated. Every village spurned us, gave chase with dogs and whatever weapons they had to hand.

DuMerle delighted in the novelty of it all, galvanised by revulsion.

And how the Tinkers adored him; he danced like a spring leaf, strummed their crude instruments, sang the merriest of songs. At passing fayres he'd encourage me to filch perfumes and sweets and ribbons for our hosts. They never questioned where the gifts had come from. He had dazzled them beyond caring.

To me he gave the dregs of his affections. 'My heart, we shall leave soon,' he would croon, stroking away my fears. 'Before the leaves turn, I swear it.'

But the leaves raged red and still we remained.

Countless times I resolved to leave, creeping from my wagon like a sneak-thief. Then I would glimpse his candle in the gloom and my rebellions would crack and wither.

I suffered alone. Lust and resentment boiled 'til I could hardly fathom my feelings for DuMerle. I loved him. I hated him. I could neither leave nor stay. I was a half-being and I longed for the vibrant creature I had been.

But DuMerle was merely biding his time – he had a plan, he announced one crisp, spring morn, a plan to find a city in the south. No other would do.

Naturally, DuMerle merely expected me to draggle along. Not this time.

While the Tinker girls wept, I swallowed my tears and harboured a plan of my own.

I would stay with the _Tua'athan_ until they rounded close enough to Caemlyn for me to return. I would be free of DuMerle and in my old stalking ground. Perhaps Fairworth would find me. Maybe I would marry him.

The morning DuMerle hailed as his grand leave taking, I made myself rap at his door.

Bold as I could manage I strode into the wagon before he had a chance to call out. Part of me hoped to catch him wrapped around some Tinker girl. That would fuel my resolve, resolve now weakening from the mere smell of his cologne. Dark was how the Magpie liked his den; crimson drapes hid the windows, sunlight stifled to shadow.

Teeth glinted in the gloom. 'Drink?'

I needed one – my throat could scarcely croak a word. There came the chime of crystal and a goblet was pressed into my hand.

I closed my eyes as he whispered past. When I opened them he was stretched on a sprawl of cushions, his dark hair tied with its customary black ribbon, his shirt unlaced to reveal a palely smooth chest.

'This is an unexpected delight. I do so enjoy visitors.'

Oh, I knew all about that. Not a night had passed where giggles and sighs hadn't drifted from his lair. I made a mocking curtsey. 'I live to serve.'

'You're a sigh of fresh air, Karietta. A frigid breeze, certainly, but welcome nonetheless.'

He grinned at my silence.

'I've hardly seen that pretty pout for weeks. I could almost believe you were hiding from me. Now why would that be?'

'Because you're an insufferable bastard.'

He laughed. 'And you're an absolute treasure! Lay with me tonight.'

I barely felt my nails curl into my palm. 'I've come to tell you I'm staying with the _Tuatha'an_.'

'Really? Until when?'

'Until Caemlyn.'

DuMerle leaned to peer at me delightedly. 'Well, I'll be - you're in love with Fatsworth.'

'Fairworth.'

'That's the one. Nice chap. Accommodating.'

'And ruined, thanks to you.'

His head tilted. 'You're lonely, Karietta.' Like a beak aimed for my heart. Vicious creature. 'Have I been neglecting you?'

I made myself jerk from his touch. His gaze flickered, momentarily uncertain. I smiled.

'Take care, DuMerle.'

His dark glare chased me into sunlight.

Throughout that day DuMerle ignored my presence. He unearthed a hoard of stolen trinkets and traded them for a sturdy dappled gelding he named Callha'an, trusty mount of Ghered the Hunter, and atop his new steed he was almost like a hero of old, black cloak billowing and hair swept from his smiling face.

Ever the performer.

Unable to bear the sensuous goodbyes of the Tinker girls, I took to the woods. There I wept and wandered, plucked silkthistles and merryworts and all the flowers that whispered of childhood. I trudged through fields, waded in streams, anything to ease the storm beneath my flesh.

It was past midnight when I returned. A candle burned in only one wagon. DuMerle's.

I crept up the steps, my heart quickening. A joke, that was all. A final blow from the blackest of crows. The door was cold under my palm.

I saw a shape in the candle-glow; someone slumped at the small table, hands clamped to its edge.

'Why?'

He didn't answer. Black hair hung loose of its ribbon, hid his bowed face. I could see scratches on the wood beneath his fingers, worn markings that looked almost like keys.

Gently, his fingers began to touch, to _play_, the etchings. Light, I could almost hear his music. Broken. Hollow.

I ached for his voice. Even his most acid tongue would have been better than the ghost of a song.

'Why?' I asked again. This time he looked at me. His eyes glittered like moonlight through leaves.

_You_.

Oh, how I could fool myself.

_I came for you_.

I watched him lay his head on the table, fingers of one hand still drifting over the table.

'Do you miss it?' he murmured, so softly I had to strain to hear.

His eyes drifted shut. 'The music we made.' A sigh, fingers beating faster now. 'Light, we were…'

His hands slammed the table and then he was up, pacing the wagon with long strides.

'They know nothing about music. Nothing! Sawing those dratted fiddles, screeching like cats. Imbeciles, the lot of them.'

Something in me flinched. This was not DuMerle.

'Light, I cannot bear it. The filth I can stand, but not this…this…blighted itching in my skin!'

To see him thus was more that I could bear. Music was in DuMerle's blood; to ask him to abandon it was like asking a fish to drown, a bird to fall in flight. Had he felt this way since we took up with the Tinkers? I could almost fool myself that he had suffered as much as I.

DuMerle flung himself into a chair, one leg cocked over its arm, black hair draped about his shoulders. I grasped the decanter, poured, thrust him a glass of wine.

'Leave.'

Was that my voice, so strong and resolute?

'Go to your southern city, start again.'

Were those really his eyes, so wild and wicked and utterly fixed on me?

'Leave tomorrow. Now, even! Why are you still here?'

'Come with me.'

I slapped his cheek. His eyes burned savage, lips drawn from teeth as though the pain delighted him.

'Do not toy with me,' I warned. 'I bear this no better than you.'

He rose from the chair, eyes narrowed. 'Then come.'

Light, the promise of it - he and I. Alone. Together.

How close we were; my breasts grazing his unlaced shirt, his salt-sweet smell, the lax, fathomless depth of his pupils.

Did he move first? Did I? No matter. We were one in the end.

I tried to drown in him, clutched his face, his back, his hips. But Light, I was as fire, belly molten, red hair like licking flames, urging him deeper and deeper 'til there was only blessed warmth and a sweet ache in my bones. I curled into his chest, suddenly very small and soft and young.

'Such passion, Karietta.' A low chuckle. 'I hope you kept some for your voice.'

He slid from me and into his clothes, boasting of his great city and the songs that filled his head. I saw not a trace of the mournful creature I found hunched over a scarred desk.

The door slammed on a chill breeze and I was left cold and alone, not knowing who had won after all.

* * *

He had scars. I sometimes remind myself of that, perhaps as proof that he's human after all. Pale ridges cross his back and shoulders. I traced them while he slept, in awe of imperfection. 

Had he left alone that day I would never have set eyes on his city in the south.

Ashes, why didn't he leave?

* * *

DuMerle's great city lit the sky for leagues. Dawn gleamed on distant domes and spires as we crested the grassy rise, their sheen like molten pearl 

DuMerle urged Callha'an forward, shoulders straight, eyes drinking in that sprawl of light. 'I'm back, you old whore,' he murmured before breathing deep, arms flung wide. '_I'm back!_'

Shaking with his savage cry, DuMerle turned to me, eyes fevered, grin tight.

'Welcome home, Karietta. Welcome to Amador.'


End file.
